


Mirrors and Dread, Red Needle And Thread

by RobinsGirlWonder



Series: The Sacrifice of Fate [1]
Category: Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: Countess Bathory, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsGirlWonder/pseuds/RobinsGirlWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean & Sam Winchester find their way to the town of Delight, Arkansas where Chloe Sullivan is trying to forget her past. But the town harbors a terrifying secret of a woman who steals young women, bathing in their blood. M for language/violence/minor sexual imagery. Set Supernatural season 2, prior to Nightshifter, and Smallville season 10, during Homecoming. Part 1 of 6 in the Sacrifice of Fate series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Nerds and Bitches

Chapter One: Of Nerds and Bitches

  


The Impala and nighttime. Cool fall breeze had been whipping through the car all day, and now that night had fallen, two brothers had rolled the windows up and continued on their journey out to nowhere, Arkansas. In between jobs, the only way of keeping busy was conversation, and for Dean, that was fairly acceptable. He would much rather be chatting up some hot, frisky chick who had a taste for good booze and someone as good-looking as himself, but, instead, he was stuck with the only other girl in his life. His brother.

"I dunno, Dean, this still doesn't seem like our kind of job," Sam was muttering as he looked through something on his laptop. God, seriously, it drove him nuts. There wasn't a town for miles, not even streetlights to lead them, yet the older Winchester was stuck dealing with the blinding glare out of the corner of his eye from that stupid geek factory next to him.

"Seriously?" Dean growled, reaching over and shutting the laptop finally. "See, this is why I let you do all the research. You're just gonna whine about it when I pick something you don't like anyway." They passed a sign on the road:  _Delight 15._  Brilliant. They were headed for a town called Delight. Yeah, if only.

Sam shot his brother a sideways glance before he slipped the laptop back into its bag at his feet. "Man, this is just like Longview."

Dean's eyebrows practically shot so far up his forehead they could have flown through the roof, and he shifted so he could face him. "Screw you, how is this like Longview? We were tracking a crazy little girl with a red balloon who sucked peoples' faces out of mirrors? That was Bloody Mary redux."

"Yeah, and in Longview, you made fun of me because I knew she was from Doctor Who." Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "And so when the next two jobs you picked to try to 'one-up' me, you just looked like an idiot."

Dean's jaw set, his eyes focused on the road, determined not to give into the bait. Of course, that lasted all of ten seconds before his eyes flicked in Sam's direction and he saw the triumphant bitch-face at work. God, he hated that bitch-face more than that pouty bitch-face. That one was the worst. Dammit, bait taken.

"The Doctor is an urban legend that someone turned into a TV show. That spirit manifest that way because you are such a nerd that is permeates through every facet of your existence." Dean snarked, shifting in his seat again.

"So, why not something like a Little Sister? Y'know, with a Big Daddy to protect her?"

Whether or not the spirit was in fact some character from that stupid Sci-fi show was completely forgotten as Dean tried to process what had just come out of his brother's mouth. "Dude, what the hell kind of porn are you into?"

"What?" Sam's voice had jumped an octave.  _Like a proper bitch_ , Dean's mind filled in absently. "No, dude, it's from  _Bioshock._  A video game."

"When do you have time for video games?" Dean asked, disbelieving. They'd been on the road so much, he hardly had time to enjoy sleeping in a damn bed.

"What do you think I do when you're busy not coming back to the motel?" Sam quipped.

Dean grimaced. " _Awkward_."

"Video games help me unwind – "

"Yeah, so does – "

Sam silenced Dean with a very serious, scolding finger being pointed at him. "Do not say a fucking word, dude."

Like two wolves staring each other down, the brothers remained locked in defiant gazes for a moment, before finally, Dean sniffed and shrugged, looking back at the road again. "Fine, fine, Princess of Power. You wanna go swing your girly sword all over Greyskull, be my guest."

Dean expected a quip, or a snarky bitch-pout, or at least  _something._  Silence was all he received, so he couldn't help but glance over to see what his brother was doing.

His douchebag brother was smiling. Fucking  _smiling._

"What?" Dean barked.

"She-Ra?" Sam sounded either dumbfounded or, dare he think it, impressed. "You are calling me She-Ra?"

"Well, if the bustier fits," Dean shrugged, looking back at the street.

"No, no, wait, you  _know_  She-Ra? Dean Winchester, the biggest brick, man's man, man about town, of our entire family, and you know  _She-Ra_?" Sam was starting to chuckle now.

"What? She's He-Man's sister, kind of hard to ignore." Dean reasoned, looking at Sam to show just how completely not an issue this was. "She was _hot_."

Sam shook his head, still chuckling as Dean tried to focus on the fact that his bitch of a brother had something to laugh about. Not okay. Never okay.

"Dude, you can get the hell out of my car now."

Sam laughed harder, leaning back in his seat. "She was a cartoon character. For a show aimed at girls."

Dean had never been more relieved to see a sign for the town ahead. Two miles to go, and he could kick his brother out of the car. And possibly leave him outside of the motel room. Focusing on the road, he was silent until he parked the Impala, shutting the engine off and glancing over at Sam.

"Bitch."

"Nerd." Dean's eyebrows shot up again through the roof and probably into the sky.

"Oh, you are so dead."

"Gotta catch me first!" Sam laughed, opening the car door and bolting for the lobby of the motel to get them checked in.

God, some days Dean hated his brother.


	2. Middle of Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean and Sam arrive in Delight, Chloe is already there. Of course, why she's there? Well, that's for her to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm crossposting this from FF.net, as I much prefer it over here. :) But, that being said, I dunno how I feel about the whole chapter summary thing, but if I think of some fun taglines, I might try to use the function, but since this is adventure/mystery/romance, I kinda just want to let you guys ride it through. Also, while the uploads are gonna come once a day for the next few days, it's only because I have the other 10 chapters already written. From there on, I try to keep a solid once-a-week deadline for myself on fics. Enjoy! Please leave me reviews! Or kudos! I'm not picky! <3 Also, this is a POV-centric fic, so that might be a reason for me to keep the chapter summaries on here.

Chapter Two: Middle of Nowhere

 

That was it. The trail stopped.

Chloe Sullivan gazed in resignation at the bright screen of her laptop, sitting proudly on the small table in the puce-colored motel room she was forced to call home. For now. With a grimace, Chloe rubbed her eyes and tried to come to grips with the hard truth she hadn't wanted to see: the trail that the Helmet of Fate had so carefully laid out for her in pristine clarity had finally come to an end.

For the last four months, she had been faithful to the path. She'd taken the necessary steps to secure Oliver's freedom, and was taking the necessary steps to  _ensure_  his survival. Chloe's journey had been difficult, but she had to believe it would be worth it. Diana had brought her back from the edge of the grave when she washed upon the shores of Paradise Island after Rick Flagg had dropped her body into the ocean. Meeting Bruce had reminded her that sometimes, all it took was a little guidance to help people become the heroes they wished to be. They needed a den mother, as Vic used to call her. Now that the Amazon was walking the United States, in search of understanding of Chloe's culture and her people, Gotham City had begun to report rumors of a Dark Avenger of the Night, operating much like Green Arrow once had.

Chloe smiled in spite of herself. When she'd told Bruce that his fear of bats could be used for a positive change, she had no idea he'd take the advice so literally.

That being said, Delight, Arkansas was supposed to be the endgame. The moment when the Helmet's journey for her finally would come to fruition, the light at the end of the tunnel. So far, she felt like she was sitting on train tracks near Crater Lake, the train rushing to catch up with her. There was _nothing_. The trail had gone cold quite literally in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

Chloe groaned softly, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake up. Glancing at the clock display on the bottom right corner of her screen, she blinked stupidly as she registered the time. 1 AM? Had the time really flown that much that day? She'd arrived in Delight that morning, and her entire day had been a flurry of researching the uneventful town and reminding herself to  _forget_  Oliver's phone number. News of his "coming out" had hit the internet that morning, and it had taken all of her strength not to call him and scream at him. The sacrifices she had made had  _not_  been so that Oliver would spill his identity to anyone who listened. The secrecy had not been what took her away. She was saving him. Clearly, with Chloe no closer to discovering why Fate had led her here, she only had one explanation: The tank was empty, the engine was dead.

Either way, she needed fuel or she wasn't going to finish out the night. Too many months of staying up until the lightest hours of the morning made it impossible for her to sleep normal hours if she had a mystery to solve. Standing, she stretched in her khaki pants and simple black tank top, then padded her way over to the little kitchenette. Another frown appeared on her lips as she realized that she'd left the coffee pot on after making her last batch, and now what was left was completely burnt. She was desperate, but she wasn't  _that_  desperate. She'd have to actually go out for fuel. She was pretty sure the motel lobby had one of those nifty little Starbucks machines. That would have to do.

Slipping on a pair of black flats, Chloe made her way to the front door. She left her green leather jacket where it was still packed in her duffel bag, instead opting for the black leather she'd picked up in Gotham. It still smelled of the Wildcat Club: leather, hemp and sawdust. Diana might have taught her how to fight with a sword, but it was Ted Grant who taught her to fight with her head.  _Never fight angry, cookie._  She could still hear him admonish her breathlessly as he tried to goad her into making a mistake during a match.

Shrugging the comforting material on, Chloe slipped her keycard in her back pocket. Something above her caught her eye, and she glanced up, realizing that the stranger in the mirror... was her.

So much had changed in such little time. Her hair was still its usual short length, a little bit higher, framing her chin. But, it was straight now. No more bouncy curls and waves that created what Oliver had fondly called 'The Disheveled Professor' look. Her eyes were still bright, but they lacked their inner smile, the sense of wide-eyed curiosity that had once made her the aspiring reporter for the Daily Planet. She looked like Chloe Sullivan, the woman she'd erased from the digital world. But she looked so  _tired._  And she was. She was tired of running, tired of looking over her shoulder, tired of knowing that she'd had to purposely lose her cell phone so that she wouldn't call Oliver, call Clark... Lois... But she knew what she was doing. She'd been helping create heroes. Heroes like Green Arrow. Like The Blur.

But Chloe wasn't the hero.

She was the Sidekick. And Sidekicks didn't always grow up to follow in the footsteps of their heroes. Sometimes, they made the sacrifices so the heroes didn't have to, and they picked up their toys to go home.

Chloe smiled ruefully, sadly, and opened the door of the motel room. Chloe Sullivan didn't  _have_  a home.

 _Do not dwell on what you cannot change, Sister,_  Diana's smooth, husky and ever-calm voice reminded her, as if she'd only just said goodbye to the Amazon who was now walking about the country under the guise of Diana Prince. Chloe knew that Diana's words had been spot-on then, and they were spot-on now. She'd made her choice. Time to live with it. Chloe stepped into the cool night air.

As she closed the door behind her, a bolt of fear ran through her as she heard the roar of an engine below. Her body tensed, and she spun on her heels, ready to bolt while she tried to identify the vehicle. Thankfully, her eyes landed on a black muscle car, a real immaculately kept classic, and she visibly relaxed. Every engine approaching, every screech of tires was another step back, another moment of fright that Flagg would somehow track her down. While she didn't exist digitally, she still existed on paper. People  _could_  find her.

Now that she'd relaxed, she jogged down the steps to the parking lot, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. The motel lobby  _had_  to have coffee. She needed the mental stimulation.

Again, Chloe heard before she saw something out of the corner of her eye. "Gotta catch me first!" A husky voice laughed as a tall -  _wow,_  was he  _tall_  - brunette with floppy hair barrelled past her, reminding her like a gigantic grown-up version of Bart. If Bart was part-giant. She turned, watching the man - who seemed to be about her age - made his way up the stairs with all the agility of a gazelle.

"Dude, your ass is so grass when I get to you," Chloe turned to face the car as she heard the deep barking from the driver's side. Someone not quite as tall, but seemed to make up for that in breadth, was climbing out of the black beast of a car. Chloe couldn't help but slow down, watching unabashedly, her eyes twinkling with the curiosity of a star reporter, even if that dream seemed to be eons away from the Chloe Sullivan standing there on the blacktop. "It's so grass you'll be picking lawnmower bits out of your teeth..." The driver turned, looking for his companion, but his eyes found Chloe's instead. And what eyes they were. Even from ten yards away, Chloe was struck with just how intense that gaze was. It sent a shiver through her spine, not unlike the first time she'd met Bruce. The only difference was that Bruce reminded her of Oliver.

This guy? She didn't know him from Adam, but he seemed to have looked right into her and through her.

The moment passed as the driver's taunt died on his lips, and instead he smirked at her, giving her a nod that was as "O hai, Sup?" as possible. Ah. Chloe smiled at him, nodding politely before turning and walking towards the motel lobby. A flirt.

"Sam, get back here!" The driver barked again, and she glanced over her shoulder in time to see the two boys going to the room next to hers. Huh. That... well, that made more sense. They seemed close. Familiar.

Chloe sighed and made her way into the lobby, glancing around for the Starbucks machine.

Five minutes later with two big cups of coffee in hand, Chloe was heading back to her room, her mind still swirling with information. With that first sip of coffee, neurons had started to spark and fire, she could focus again.

That, unfortunately, didn't help her with why she was in Delight in the first place. There was  _nothing_  here. The Helmet had given her the ability to speak Greek on Paradise Island, it had shown her where Ted Grant had set up shop in Gotham. So why hadn't it given her anything now, when she needed it most? All she knew now was the end game. Somehow, she would make her way back to Flagg. Oh, she would find him and she was going to make sure he could never hurt Oliver or Clark ever again. But, sadly, she knew the cost.

She could still remember the words echoing in her mind as she'd walked into the Brownstone.  _She's here, the Chosen Girl. Love is dangerous. Nabu knows._  Chloe's footsteps faltered as she let herself fall into memory.  _Would you sacrifice your sanity to save the archer?_  The images she had seen in just those brief moments when she and Nabu had been connected had taken the last four months to truly decrypt. Even so, there were parts she didn't understand, couldn't understand. There were words from Nabu that she would remember weeks after she'd touched the Helmet.

So why was nothing coming to mind now? Maybe Fate had abandoned her.

Chloe scoffed, shaking her head and walking up the stairs. Typical. Every man in her life abandoned her in one way or another, why would a god be any different? Chloe's expression saddened as she realized her harsh thoughts. To be fair, Oliver hadn't left. She'd forced him away. But he'd move on. Everyone moved on. Even she would. Eventually. She hoped.

If she didn't become her mother first. Fate had shown her other timelines, but he could not show her her own. All except for one image. He never explained what it meant. But, his words had been crystal clear. To save Oliver, she could lose her sanity. She could become her mother, or worse, she could become like Kent Nelson.

In the end, she'd lose Oliver anyway. She'd resigned herself to that fact. It hurt less than she thought it would. She wasn't sure if it was because she knew she was protecting him, and ultimately, if he was safe, that was  _all_  that mattered. Or, maybe it was because she'd gotten so accustomed to losing people she loved, it was becoming standard practice.

"Need some help?" The voice jostled her out of her reverie, and Chloe blinked, looking up and to the left. The not-so-gargantuan driver of the black muscle car was standing next to her, pointing to the two cups of coffee in her hand.

"What?" Chloe's synapses were seriously not firing. All she could smell was leather and cologne, both everything and yet nothing like Oliver. Blinking, she realized her hands were full.  _Duh, Chloe_. "Oh! Um, sure, thanks." She smiled, offering the coffees to him as she grabbed her keycard and opened her door, keeping it propped open with her foot.

"No problem." He smiled, and Chloe tried to ignore the guilty feeling of her stomach flipping at that smile. "That's a lot of coffee for 1 AM. What, you work construction?"

Oh, a joke. That was... yeah, cute. "Not quite. I just really need a fix." She grinned, taking the cups back, still rooted to the spot. Why was she standing there still? "So, um, thank you again. What brings you and your husband here?" Chloe thought she was being quite nice, so when his expression completely soured, she had no idea why.

"What?" The stranger's eyebrows shot up, a motion she had a suspicion he did quite often. "He - wow, no, no," He laughed, like he'd heard this before. "He's my  _brother._ "

Considering all the time Chloe had spent learning to be hardened and less "heart-on-her-sleeve", she couldn't stop the blush that not only colored her cheeks, but traveled right down her neck and probably blossomed along her collar as well. "Oh! Oh, well, then..." A nervous smile broke her veneer, and she giggled. "Uhhh... let's try this again. Hi, I'm Chloe. I am  _not_  assuming you are married. Or gay. But, if you were, I'd be okay with that. Okay, trying again. Hi, I'm Chloe. And you are?"

The stranger reached a hand out. "Dean, still not married, and  _definitely_  not gay, sweetheart..." Chloe chuckled, holding the cups up to motion that she was still operating hands-free. "Oh, right. Nice to meet you, Chloe."

"Likewise. I appreciate the coffee rescue." She quipped. He chuckled in reply. This had become so easy. Just chatting with people, playing the part of Chloe Sullivan, intrepid nobody. Sometimes, she forgot just how much she'd left behind.

After the silence between them seemed to linger just a little too long, Chloe cleared her throat and smiled. "I should be... y'know," She nodded towards her room. "Thanks for your help. Night."

Dean smiled, waving a little at her. "Hey, no prob. Oh, hey, if you're gonna be around still, me and my bro are hanging a couple days."

"I'll keep that in mind," Chloe grinned, letting the door close. It wasn't until she put the coffee cups down that she realized what had seemed so odd.

She knew his face.

He was in the endgame. He was there when she sacrificed her sanity.


	3. Lights Out

Oh, god, he was back twenty minutes early. So much for research.

Sam rubbed his eyes and glanced up at his brother, who was walking into the room empty-handed with an unreadable expression on his face. It was already 1 AM, but for the Winchester brothers, it felt like 2 AM. The joys of crossing time zones.

Sam knew he was going to hate himself for saying anything, but it was that or he'd have to wait for the inevitable moment when Dean would wait  _just_  until Sam had gotten engrossed in their father's journal to talk. "I thought you were going on a beer run."

Dean tossed his keys onto the table, shrugging off his jacket, nearly taking his green button down with it. "Yeah, so?"

Sam hated that. He hated his brother's attitudinal, immature Morse Code way of talking. Especially when he hadn't had anything to drink. He  _must_ have been dropped on his head more than once as a child. "Sooo... missing something?"

"What?" Dean glanced absently at his hands. As if he'd suddenly just realized what had happened, he shrugged and smirked. "Oh, yeah." Oh, god, it was  _that_  smirk. It was the  _Dean has either been laid or would like to be laid or thinks he might get laid_  smirk. It was going to be a  _long_  case at this rate. "Yeah, had to help a damsel in distress, thought better of the booze."

There was no way he'd heard that correctly. Journal forgotten, Sam absently closed the tome and set it on the nightstand between the two queen beds each had respectively claimed. "Wait. _You_  'thought better' of getting liquor?" Sam paused, weighing his options at the somewhat dopey expression on his brother's face. " _Christo_ ," He tested.

"Dude, the fuck, I'm still  _me!_ " Dean barked, and Sam barely had time to duck out of the way of a pillow being chucked his way. Glancing back up, he was just in time to see Dean leap onto his bed and lay back, cool as a cucumber. "I just figured I'd get it tomorrow. Since when did you care if I got beer or not? Half the time you're too busy puckering your lips and tsking like a queen when I drink."

"Yeah, because you start at ten in the morning," Sam insisted, pulling off his sweatshirt. If Dean wasn't drinking and he was here, then chances are it would be lights out for both of them soon. Well, for Sam it would be staring at the ceiling and listening to Dean snore like a freight train full of coal and crying children. "It's just odd, okay? But, then again, Dean, you're you. You are the definition of odd." Sam laid back on his own bed, grabbing for his laptop. He wasn't going to give into his brother's baiting attitude, the  _just-ask-me-say-you-care-what-I'm-doing-so-I-can-somehow-make-fun-of-you_  patented Dean Winchester method. Pulling up his normal search engines for the weird and unexplained, Sam couldn't help but grumble aloud, "Only person I know who can list off every horror movie in the last twenty years but you don't know what Facebook is."

Dean chuckled as he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his green button down. "That's because I have a  _life_ , Sammy. That doesn't involve computers and libraries unless they're used for -"

Sam groaned in dismay. "Shut up!"

Laughing, Dean reached over, shutting off the light and settling into bed. "I'm  _just saying_ , Sammy, maybe if you were a little less weird science - no, fuck that, just a little less  _weird_  - maybe you wouldn't be so enthralled with what I do for 20 minutes. Or even better,  _you_  could go get the beer occasionally." It was blissfully silent for a few moments as Sam chose not to take the bait, instead busying himself with research about Delight. "Startin' to make me feel like a friggin' wino," Dean grumbled, and then was silent again. Sam held his breath, waiting, hoping, that his brother would take the hint and just go to sleep already.

Well, the silence for the next thirty seconds seemed to indicate that Dean had given up on conversation. Thank god.

Focusing his attention back to the laptop, Sam glanced at the time again. Late, but not late enough. There was no way he was going to let himself go to sleep if he didn't have to. While his visions had actually been practically non-existent the last few weeks, he was never in a rush to crash. So, instead, he wanted to take a look at the town again. When he and Dean had gotten a call from Ellen mentioning that this town was experiencing strange sightings and strange noises, Sam really hadn't thought this was a job for them. Sounded more like pranks than anything else. Probably just some kids who were having fun in a town that probably had the one stop light they'd seen on the way in. Okay, that might have been an exaggeration, but this was definitely not that big a town.

There was  _nothing_  of note in this little town, it seemed. At least, that was what his research was telling him so far. The most notable thing that had happened to these people had been when a former screen actress from the 70s had moved into town in the last two years after having a house built.

Sam yawned, feeling exhaustion finally start to take over. Okay, maybe further research would have to wait. He probably could use a little bit of sleep. Especially since he had started to hear snoring in the other bed, which meant Dean was officially dead to the world. Closing the laptop, he set it down under the bed and laid back. After getting comfortable, he found that even though his eyes were trying desperately to close, something just wouldn't let him fall to sleep.

That wasn't entirely true. He knew what was still bothering him. The promise he'd forced Dean to make while he was drunk a few weeks ago. Peoria, at that inn. He'd been too drunk to keep his mouth shut, but certainly not drunk enough to forget what he'd asked. But, Sam knew that it had to be said. He had been sick and tired of Dean treating him like a child. Given that he now knew their own father thought there was something the demon had done something that could make him hurt people, it was all the more reason to make sure that Dean would do what he had to.

Sam meant it. Everyone around him kept dying. He didn't want his brother to become the first in a long list of casualties. Or the last.

As Sam's eyes finally started to close on their own again, he tried to push away the thoughts of what might happen to him. Right now, he just needed to rest. Focus on the case. Every step closer to saving someone was a step closer to the demon. He had to think positively, he couldn't sit there and just worry about what Dean was going to do. Had his brother really let him down yet? When it really mattered?

Sam knew the answer to that question. He knew he could trust him with his life. But could he trust him with his death? That was a whole other story.

Sam rolled onto his side, finally settling into a comfortable position. And soon, he was sleeping as well.

_A house. It's so cold._

" _HELP ME!"_

_Where's the scream coming from? A room, a room with black and red. No, it's black, but the floor, the floor's red. It's blood. Blood is everywhere._

_Crying. Little girls crying._

_A woman hanging from the ceiling, screaming, begging._

_Begging for Dean?_

_Haygd!_

_Haygd!_

_A face! Dead, pale face, covered in flecks of blood, screaming over and over again._

_Haygd!_

_It hurts!_

_Arms. Legs. Skin. Cut. Bleeding. So much blood._

_So many words, so much being screamed. So much sound, too much sound, not enough sound - where's the crying?_

_Where are the girls?_

_Blue eyes. Prettiest blue eyes, but there's blood trailing up her face. Blonde hair sticky with rusty blood._

_Dean cutting rope._

_Dean catching her._

_The Countess comes._

Sam bolted out of bed, an undignified gulping gasp leaving his lips as his eyes searched for the unearthly face in his dreams. "Fuck..." He panted, his whole body shaking, alive with tension. Sweat covered his arms, his T-shirt was soaked. "Fuck fuck fuckity fuck..." He swore as he looked around, still waiting for that unearthly assailant to be waiting for him. A quick scan around the motel room showed nothing, not even the barest hint that something or someone had been in the room. Dean was still snoring next to him.

It was a dream. Just a dream?

No. That was a vision. Something was coming. And whatever it was, it shook him to the core. Just like the demon.


	4. Bear Claw Conspiracies

Morning in Delight was certainly anything  _but._  Dean grimaced at the hazy, murky gray weather. Man, talk about ominous. There was no way today was gonna be a good day. No fucking way.

As he finished pulling on his shirt, his gaze still locked on the crap weather through the window, he heard the front door unlock. Oh great, pansy patrol was back. Most likely with coffees as tall as him. Seriously? That was so unfair. He was the oldest, why the hell did Sam have to lumber around like the Jolly Green Giant?

"I think I know why we're here." Sam's statement immediately cramped Dean's already muted style today. First he'd had the misfortune of missing the cute blonde next door before she left - she'd even left the window facing the hallway open, so he'd been able to confirm that fact - and now his brother was about to start the job talk. More and more job talk.

"What'd you find?" Dean turned and made his way over to his floppy-haired sibling, grabbing the coffee offered to him, seeing a bag of pastries as well. "A massive haunted bear claw conspiracy?" He dug his hand into the paper bag, pulling free a donut for three of his fingers. Dean flopped down on his brother's bed, stuffing half the first donut in his mouth easily. Sugar rush. Hot damn.

Oh, god, the bitchface. That was monumentally pissed off prissy bitchface that greeted Dean this morning, and that brought a smirk to his lips while he ate. "Very funny, Dean."

"I know, I think I'm awesome." The elder Winchester chuckled as he finished stuffing the rest of the donut in his mouth, chewing happily. "I should be a fucking comedian, I would make bank."

Another tsk, and Dean almost kicked his legs in glee. Damn, his bro was  _so_  easy to piss off before his first cup of coffee. "Look, I'm serious, Dean. I had a vision last night."

Okay, day just went from crap to what-the-fuck.

Dean sat up, donuts momentarily forgotten. "What kind of vision? About the demon? We got a lead?" As much as Peoria had shown him a side of Sam he would love to forget, the demon was still first priority. Well, no. Sammy was first priority. Demon was second. But, he wouldn't tell his brother that. It would take some seriously extenuating circumstances. Dean Winchester was a fucking steel trap when it came to his emotions.

If that steel trap was made out of teddy bears. Wait? What? Fuck, no! Steel.

Focus, though. Sam was queening, so something was wrong. " _Sam._ " He urged, concerned by the silence as Sam just stared at his damn coffee like it was a fucking Ouija board. "The hell did you see?"

Sam finally looked up at his brother, and Dean felt his facade breaking a little. Shit. His little bro looked  _scared._  He fucking hated this vision shit. His brother was already enough of a wuss, and it was his damn job to take care of him. "This was different. This didn't have anything to do with the demon. At least, I don't think it did. There was...It wasn't like my normal visions. Those normally show me a whole sequence of events, I can pick out things." Dean frowned as Sammy looked back at his coffee cup again. "I just kept getting images, like tableaus. All these girls were crying and... there was so much blood. Someone kept shouting something,but I couldn't make it out. And..." Sam's face started to crumple, and Dean bit at the inside of his cheek, knowing that he couldn't make his brother feel any better about the horrible shit he had to see. "There was this girl - young woman." Sam reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose. "She was upside-down, I think? There was blood everywhere. She was this... blonde chick with these really blue eyes - "

Dean paused, putting one and one together. They were in Delight. Sam had had a vision. While it was a long shot, Dean had felt like the chick with coffee the night before had seemed a little  _too_ relaxed for a night owl. "Was her hair short? Like, a sort of bob thing?"

Sam paused, looking up at him in confusion. "Um, yeah, I think so." Sam gave a soft little chuckle. "Wait, you know what a bob is?"

Dean lowered his eyes at his brother in annoyance. "I know how to describe a chick's hair. Duh." Sam kept looking at him in disbelief. " _What?_  Chicks know their hair. It's good to at least know a little bit of the lingo." Oh, look, more silence and disbelief from the biggest nerd to ever nerd. "Keep talking, was there anything else?" Dean's initial concern at who the blonde in his brother's vision was would have to wait.

Sam rubbed his eyes, letting out a deep breath as he tried to take it all in. After a long moment, he cautiously held a finger up, as if he was having to pull the thought out of his brain between the Power Rangers and the Barbie Dolls. "The Countess... I remember thinking that the Countess was coming." Sam opened his eyes, dropped his hand. "But I don't know what that means. That could be anything. Either way, I  _do_  think something's here. We should stay." The way Sam was looking at him didn't sit right with Dean. There was something else. But what?

Dean sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, sort of absently reveling in the childish sound while he weighed their options. Clearly, this was job material. Clearly, this was  _freaky_  job material. But, his brother had a vision about that and it didn't seem at all related to the Demon? Not normally the Yellow-Eyed bastard's MO.

"What the hell are we sittin' around here for?" Dean sighed as he hopped up off the bed and went back to eating a donut. He grabbed his leather jacket from the chair it was draped on, and held the last donut in his mouth as he shrugged it on.

"Dean, what're you doing?" Oh, god, it was the whiny, confused prissy voice. The one that normally followed with general tsking and PMSing and all around girliness. So, naturally, Dean's response was to mumble something completely unintelligible through the donut in his mouth. His brother grimaced. "What?'

Dean took his time chewing as he polished off the last donut, before wiping his hands on his jeans. "I said," He sniffed some, grabbing for his keys and heading to the door. "Let's go check out this Pleasantville, Princess."

When he realized Sam wasn't moving fast enough, Dean opened the door and started singing in a falsetto quietly. "She-Ra, She-Ra - " He sang, a hand above his head like he was holding her Sword aloft.

"Jerk!" Sam shouted as he scrambled to get out the door and shut Dean up.

"Bitch!" Dean barked back as he waited for his brother to inevitably catch up. He didn't glance back to make sure Sam was following until he heard the clomping footfalls down the wooden steps behind him.

Fifteen minutes and a  _whole lotta_  bitching later, Dean and Sam had made their way down to the main street at a leisurely pace. The weather still threatened, but hadn't actually turned to rain, so it was nice and cool, but almost unseasonably so. Dean's charcoal T-shirt and blue denim button down were almost totally hidden by his leather jacket, so at least there was no worry that he'd feel cold.

On the other hand, Sam had left without thinking to grab his jacket, even though Dean had  _told_  the stupidest-smart-guy he knew to just  _go back to the freaking motel_ , but instead, he chose to whine. And whine. Dean was just about ready to throttle him when they finally turned a corner and all of Dean's concerns dissipated. There was a diner in front of them, just at the end of the road.

Where there was diner, there was pie.

"We're in Arkansas in October and yet I am  _freezing_." Samantha huffed as they walked.  _Like a proper bitch_ , Dean absently filled in again. "Why is it cold? The forecast had predicted highs in the 80s and lows in the mid-70s."

Dean continued to ignore his brother as he beelined for the end of the street. The diner was practically summoning it to him, like his baby did when she needed some TLC. He was going to have a downright filthy experience with the first piece of chess pie he could find. He was in a chess pie sort of mood.

So enthralled with the diner was Dean that all he could do was snark at Sam behind him, not really paying attention to what Jumbo was up to. "Okay, look, go get a jacket or a picnic tablecloth, Sammy, I don't care." Dean grinned as his prize was in sight. Pie. In the glass case. Facing the window. God loved him.

"Dean, why don't we just talk to the cops, or the locals  _inside_ , instead of wandering the streets? We could have gone to the station ten minutes ago!"

Because then there wouldn't be pie.

Pivoting so he could walk backwards and talk to the little-waif-who-could, Dean was practically counting the steps he had left. Seriously, donuts were like air and sugar. Nothing as substantial as a good pie fix. "Look, here's how it's gonna work. Eldest brother means we do things my way. And my way is that we go to the diner to schmooze the locals and get pie. Youngest brother shuts his piehole." Dean turned as they reached the diner, opening the door. Opening his mouth to speak, he paused as he caught sight of short blonde hair stepping out of a small coffee shop across the street.  _Oh, god, no way._  It was his damsel in distress from the night before, and she'd just taken a seat outside the shop with a giant cup of coffee and newspaper. Dean turned his attention to Sam. "And by pie hole, I mean the hole in your face by which you go ask the nice waitress to get me pie."

Dean shoved his brother through the open doorway, backing up towards the street. " _Find me pie!_ " He ordered his brother, giving him the Point, before turning and jogging across the empty street.

Without really thinking about how he was gonna play this, Dean ducked into a small bookshop, grabbed the first little notebook he could see, and spun back out of it. He fished through his pocket, grabbing a pen and tucking it behind his ear. Before coming out into full view, he checked the tables outside the coffee shop. Yup, blondie was still there, and she was facing him, reading her paper. Glancing at his reflection in the window of the bookshop, he smirked. Oh, yeah, this was gonna be fun.

Strolling out into view, Dean hummed Smoke on The Water as he made his way up to coffee shop.

"Dean?"

 _Bingo. I am goddamn awesome._  Feigning innocence, Dean glanced up from his notebook and looked around until he "found" the source of his name. Sure enough, there was his damsel in distress from last night, sitting, dressed in a coral top with a denim jacket and blue jeans to match. She was looking up at him expectantly, a smile on her face that was making Dean's heart beat all that much faster. Her eyes were bright and seemed far too sunny for a murky place like this.

"Heeey," Dean grinned, pointing at her, as if trying to remember her. He'd played this game many times before, and it always worked. "Cute Coffee who likes her Chloe." …. Wait, what the  _fuck_  just happened to his mouth? Dean's expression must have been downright comical as he tried to figure that out. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Cute Chloe who likes her coffee." He chuckled, smiling.

Blondie licked her lips slowly, and Dean was immediately thinking of all the different things he'd love to see that tongue do, the  _least_  of which was sitting there allowing her to stifle and suppress the laughter he could see in her eyes. "Um... yes. Hi. I am Chloe." She grinned wider, putting her coffee down and motioning to the seat across from her. "That seat is free, if you'd like. I don't know if you and, um..." She glanced at his notebook. "Hello Kitty are interested in caffeine and the Delight Morning Edition."

Dean was still trying to replay the massive neural misfire that was him trying to flirt the first time. "What?" It took him a second to realize what blondie was staring at, and he flipped the notebook in his hand over. A bright white stupid cat...  _thing_  was staring back at him. Trying to ignore the fact that even his  _ears_  fucking felt red, Dean chuckled nervously and slipped the notebook into his jacket pocket, taking a seat quickly. "It's my brother's." He sighed. "He is  _so_  gay."

Chloe arched an eyebrow in a way that was both incredibly intelligent and incredibly  _sexy_. But this chick was also cute. Dear god, she was just some cute blonde, this was  _not_  that critical. But his moves, they failed him. "Decrypting his diary?" She offered with a grin.

Dean chuckled again, nodding a bit. "Right... That's..." He shifted in his chair, his face more serious now. Well, charming. He'd like to think it was charming. "Sooo... enough about my morning reading. You a newshound or something?"

Chloe chuckled, her gaze dropping to the pages of the paper. Ah, so she was hiding something. "In another life, I guess." She put the newspaper down and took a sip of her substantial coffee. "I'm just passing through, actually." She paused, gauging her words. "At the behest of a former colleague. He thought the town was worth a visit."

"Former colleague?" He knew he was playing the 'I'm getting to know you because that makes it easy to get you in bed' card, but oddly enough, the way her voice seemed haunted made him genuinely want to know more. If his brother was around, he could at least blame his gay, but, well... Dean knew he was a sucker for the real sweet and tortured types. It was just very rare that he ever met a woman like that who gave him the time of day.

"He, uh, he moved on..." Chloe softly replied, her gaze drifting up and past him. Oh, he knew that look. Damn, he knew that look. "To another..." Chloe cleared her throat, her gaze coming back to focus on her coffee companion. "Another position." A forced, but somewhat hopeful smile appeared on lips that Dean noticed weren't just delicious, but something else. He had a feeling he could listen to this chick talk forever.  _Oh,_ _ **god**_ _! The gay really_ _ **was**_ _rubbing off on him!_

"Ah, gotcha." Dean could tell she didn't want to talk about it, and hell, if it made her stop smiling, it was  _not_  a topic he wanted to discuss. He liked smiles and other expressions, but the frown was definitely not something he'd like to see on Chloe. "Passing through. So, you wouldn't have a clue what people in this tiny horse-and-buggy town do for fun?"

"I imagine cow-tipping would be a start," Chloe quipped with another sip of coffee. Dean's chuckle of a response made her eyes twinkle, and if he'd been a bird, his chest would've puffed out he was so proud. Man, that was gay. What did he care if this chick he hardly knew was happy or sad? Unless, of course, it involved his performance in bed, and then he was  _totally_  interested in how she felt.

"Yeah, well, clearly, I'm a rebel, so we better go get started. Whaddya say? You, me, a six pack?" Dean was desperately trying to keep a straight face here. "A cow in the moonlight?"

She tossed her head back, laughing, and that made his stomach flip pleasantly. "Oooh, you had me at 'cow,' I think."

Man, she was good-natured about his humor. He had the moves like fuckin' Jagger today. Maybe the false start earlier had just been a little hiccup.

"Dean?" Oh, no. No no no no. There was no way his fucking  _princess of power_ cockblocking  _douchebag_  brother was behind him. There was  _no freaking way._  "Dean, I need to talk to you."

Not bothering to acknowledge his brother, Dean simply smiled at Chloe tightly, sniffing some. "Gimme just a sec, sweetheart, me and my sister need to have a talk."

Chloe opened her mouth to reply, but Dean was already up and moving. He didn't give two shits if Sam was taller,he could still drag him by the back of his collar. So he did.

"Dude, I swear to god - " He began, turning to face him once they were a good ten feet from where Chloe sat.

Sam's expression totally killed whatever banter Dean was going to dish out. He was pale, the expression wasn't queeny or diva or anything. It was  _real worry._  "Dean, I found something." Sam said softly, glancing over his shoulder long enough to look Chloe's way, then back to Dean. "It's bad."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean was back on the job. Blondie would have to wait. "What's going on? What'd you find?"

"When you left me at the diner, I had a second to check around." Sam glanced down at his hands, as if the next words might break him. "I think I know why I heard all that crying, Dean." He finally looked at his brother, his eyes red, tears threatening to fall. "Children." He whispered. "Dean, it's taking children. Specifically, girls."

Dean scanned his brother's expression, hoping that it was a lie. It wasn't. Fucking  _kids._  Who took  _kids?_  His jaw set, a chord deep in his soul was struck, and he glanced back at the diner. That was when he noticed what he hadn't before. The window was lined with papers. Photos. Abductees.

"Sonuva _bitch_."


	5. All Good Girls...

Chloe hated having to just ditch Dean and his brother while they talked. Especially since she had felt herself opening up a little, pleasantly surprised by his sense of humor. That worried her, though. She knew she should be chilled by his presence, the images that Fate sent her still vibrant in her mind. Yet, she was relaxing. Just a little. Just enough.

So, when she'd felt the sudden pull to look towards the diner, she had to obey. She knew that pull. Fate was trying to tell her something.  _Nabu knows_ , Chloe heard pulsing in her mind.  _Chosen Girl, they need you._

Leaving the newspaper on the table, Chloe slipped away while the two brothers engaged in some sort of heated discussion. She jogged across the street, stopping long enough to look over the diner. The photos. The missing photos lining the edges of the diner window.

When she'd returned to her room last night, Chloe had spent the rest of the wee hours of the morning researching the small town. With her new coffee fix, she'd stumbled upon the local news affiliate website that detailed the rash of abductions of young girls. Before freshening up and heading out to the coffee shop that morning, she'd already determined that there was a reason Nabu wanted her here. If it was the missing girls, then she'd be more than happy to help.

But, why the photos here? She'd seen the pictures of all six girls who'd be taken so far... six...

Chloe's eyes widened as she counted each little face underneath the 'MISSING' text on each piece of paper. One was more vibrant than the others. The ink was darker.

"There are seven..." She whispered, her mind racing. Chloe swung her purse around her hip, grabbing her phone and dialing the number on the poster. Seven girls. A new abduction.

Before she'd realized it, Chloe was back in Watchtower mode, walking down the street away from the diner - and away from Dean, better known as the omen of her impending doom, she reminded herself. Cell phone to her ear, she ducked into the bookshop, looking at the town map on the wall.

It took five minutes to get information in regards to the location of the house where the girl lived, and it took another five minutes to walk to that area of town. Chloe already had prepped her story, prepped the fake documents she needed in her purse. Chloe's bright-eyed and bushy tailed attempts to con her way into a situation were slowly becoming more finessed routines over the years of helping people through the Isis foundation, Watchtower, and of course, just the everyday experience of trying to protect both her secret and Clark's. It couldn't get her into a government facility without a computer, but she could at least manage small town investigations now.

"Hello, can I help you?" A dark-haired woman with an olive complexion opened the door when Chloe arrived at the small ranch house. Immediately, Chloe felt her heart sink, a writhing knot of snakes settling in the pit of her stomach. The woman's dark brown eyes were puffy and red, she probably hadn't stopped crying since her daughter had been taken. Chloe had to remind herself that she was doing this for the right reasons. Ultimately, if she could put a stop to this, then it would be worth it.

"Hi, Mrs. Coleman," Chloe smiled sympathetically, pulling a press pass from her pocket and holding it up. "I'm Lois Lane with the Daily Planet from Metropolis. We spoke over the phone?"

"O-Oh..." Mrs. Coleman nodded, stepping out of the way and motioning Chloe in the door. "Of course. Please, come in."

Once Chloe stepped in the doorway, the scent of roses assaulted her senses. The house was well-kept, almost meticulously so. Pictures on the hallway walls revealed Mrs. Coleman, a gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair, and a younger girl, probably 14 or so, in various athletic activities. Most notably, Chloe caught sight of the young girl on horseback, mid-jump, at an equestrian competition. That girl had everything going for her, it seemed. And someone just  _took_  her.

"Would you like something to drink, Ms. Lane?" The mother's voice slowly jostled Chloe out of her reverie. She'd been using various aliases for a while now, but Lois's always seemed to bring a quick smile to her lips. She turned to face the older woman, using that little smile of nostalgia to her advantage.

"No, thank you, I'm fine. Can we go somewhere to sit?" Chloe glanced around, trying to tread as lightly as possible on this grieving mother's pain.

"Yes, sure. In here, please." Mrs. Coleman led Chloe to the living room, which was just like something from a family drama on TNT. Modestly priced furniture that was immaculately kept, more family photos, and a bay window on the far end of the room gave a nice view of the backyard. "I'll admit, I'm surprised that a journalist from Kansas heard about what happened here."

Pleasantries now exchanged, Chloe took the opportunity to sit and pull free a small black notepad and a pen. She crossed one leg over the other, sitting back in the couch she'd settled into. "Actually, Mrs. Coleman, I'm stunned that you haven't received national media coverage. Not just you, but the whole town. Seven girls over two months? Someone should be helping you." The gentle smile that graced Chloe's features was honest. "I want to help you."

Mrs. Coleman's already tear-stained features crumbled at this, and Chloe felt her heart clench as the woman fought back more tears. The mother was able to choke out a thank you before taking a long moment to compose herself.

"I'm sorry, I know this is difficult." Chloe took a deep breath. "I couldn't possibly begin to understand your pain, but... I really do need to know everything I can."

A knock at the door caught both of them by surprise. Chloe furrowed her brow, glancing out of the window. Unfortunately, she couldn't see the front porch well enough to see who was at the door. "Were you expecting anyone else?"

"No, you were the only one I've spoken to..." Mrs Coleman stood. "Let me see who that is, I'll be right back."

As the woman left, Chloe took the opportunity to stand, investigating again. Taking a few conscious steps towards the back of the room, she took note that all the doors and windows seemed fine. There didn't seem to be any sort of disarray downstairs. Unfortunately, if she wanted specific answers, she needed to be able to sit with the girl's mother, find out exactly what happened. She paused at the mantle, looking through the photos and knick-knacks placed there. One in particular caught her eye, and she reached up, pulling a small locket free from where it was draped across a photo of the daughter, standing in front of a house that didn't look like this one. Chloe glanced down at the locket in her hand, running her thumb across a crest of some kind.

"... If you'd like to just have a seat in the living room, Sheriff Aldrich, I'll get you a glass of water." Mrs. Coleman was coming back. Chloe put the locket back on the mantelpiece and quickly made her way back to sitting on the couch just as Mrs. Coleman came around the corner.

With Dean.

What.

"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Coleman, I appreciate it." Dean was saying as Mrs. Coleman turned to head to the kitchen. Chloe pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows and politely held her notepad in her hands, resting on her lap. She didn't say anything, she just simply waited for him to notice her.

And he did. Dean turned and before Chloe knew it, his eyes were on her and his eyebrows shot up. Good lord, it was like he was just made of eyebrows and flirtatious looks. Not that Chloe was paying  _any_  attention to that. Dean was an unknown and honestly, not someone she had planned to give a second thought to once she left Delight. That was, of course, until he walked into the same house as her. Once was coincidence, twice was serendipity, three times? That was bad news.

Dean grinned, and she could tell he was about to blow her cover in less than a hot minute. If she didn't say something first.

"Sheriff Aldrich," Chloe grinned, holding her hand out for him to shake, her eyes entreating him to just go with the con. "It's Lois Lane? Daily Planet, we had coffee together this morning."

Dean took her hand, and Chloe felt a warm buzz run through her body. "Right, Ms Lane,  _pleasure_  to see you again." While Chloe knew she should have been thinking about why Dean was there, she found herself taking note that this was the first time they'd touched. And that it didn't feel like anything else. It didn't feel like the first time she'd met Oliver, or the first time she'd met Jimmy. Didn't even feel like Clark. Nope, Dean was just... very different.

"Likewise, Dea-"

"Doug, actually." Dean smiled, but his grip on her hand tightened. Ah-ha. He was conning, too.

Chloe grinned, biting her lip subconsciously. "Really? So what was it like touring with Whitesnake exactly?"

He chuckled, ready to reply, but at that precise moment, Mrs. Coleman was back.

"Here you are, Sheriff. Sure I can't get you anything, Ms. Lane?" Bless this woman's heart, she was trying so hard to stay strong, and now there were two strangers in her home about to ask questions. Chloe's suspicions about Dean notwithstanding, it was time to get answers. At least this way, Mrs. Coleman only had to talk about it the once.

"I'm fine, thanks." Chloe took a seat again on the couch, and tried not to mark her surprise as Dean suddenly took a seat next to her. The strong whiff of leather and... chocolate? permeated her senses, and it was all she could do to focus on the task at hand. What was  _with_  her?

"Now, Mrs. Coleman," Dean began beside her, his voice rumbly and not exactly what Chloe would call sympathetic. "When was your daughter taken?"

Another long pause, and Mrs. Coleman began to speak. Not surprisingly, what started as a trickle quickly turned to a flood. "I... I dropped Olivia off at school that morning at 8. She seemed fine, she was excited about her coming competition in dressage. I went to work at Dr. Perkins' - I'm his secretary - and when I left work at 5, I called the house to check and make sure she'd gotten home safely. She hadn't. So I called the school, I called my husband, I called her friend Amber, and  _no one_  had seen her and I - I don't understand what could've happened! Why her? She's so talented, and she's got so many things going for her... Oh, my poor baby - "

Chloe instinctively reached out, taking the grieving mother's hand as the tears overtook her speech entirely. She wanted to comfort her, she couldn't begin to understand that loss, that fear, but words completely failed the normally bombastic wordsmith Chloe Sullivan.

"We're gonna find her." Chloe had been thinking something similar, but the words hadn't come from her mouth. That intense, firm and unusually voracious statement had come from Dean beside her. Chloe slowly pulled back, glancing over at him, but found his eyes were totally locked on Mrs. Coleman. As far as she knew, Chloe suddenly wasn't in the room anymore. "No kid deserves to be scared like that. We're gonna find her, and I am gonna fix this, you got me?" Chloe felt a chill run down her spine, and she sat up straighter, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of her heart. The way he'd suddenly grown so serious, determined. She hardly knew him, but she knew that edge to his voice. It was so distinct, and she knew it when she heard it.

That was the sound of a hero.

"Thank you, Sheriff." Mrs. Coleman finally managed, looking almost as stunned as Chloe felt. "I can't tell you how much that means to me. That you're helping." She looked to Chloe. "And you, Miss Lane. Do you think this will help?"

"Yes, I really do. In fact, I'll be working with the Sheriff here to get more information as we go." Chloe could feel the eyes boring into the back of her head. Oh, so Dean noticed her again. For some reason, that brought her a little thrilling jolt of satisfaction. Maybe it was the fact that she'd kept bumping into heroes and potential heroes for the last few months, because Fate was pulling her towards them. She could spot them, and they never really knew what they were getting into with Chloe.

Or it was just that, for a second, she was thrilled she had commanded the attention of that flirtatious con man beside her.

"You said you called her friend?" Dean was asking questions again, and had pulled a notebook and a pen from somewhere. "Did your daughter normally spend time with Amber...?"

"Amber Rawlings." Mrs. Coleman nodded. "Yes, she did. They typically would go from school to the coffee shop on the walk home. But, Amber said she never showed up." The tears threatened to fall once more. "I don't understand. Every teacher saw her, it's not that large a school! How could she be there one minute and gone the next?"

Chloe pursed her lips, her brow furrowing in worry once more. That did seem odd. When she'd researched the abductions the night before, she'd seen that the school was out of the way, and most kids walked home. Someone snatching a kid probably shouldn't have gone unnoticed. Another student should have seen, especially someone like Olivia's best friend.

"Had you noticed anyone unusual following Olivia? Talking to her, anything like that? Did she say anything?" Dean's demeanor had definitely changed. He'd gone from casually looking for information to pinpointing everything that Chloe was considering as well.

"No, nothing like that - " Mrs. Coleman stopped in mid-sentence, her eyes widening in recognition. "The carriage."

Chloe's eyebrows shot up in curiosity, and if she'd glanced beside her, she would have seen Dean do the same. "Carriage?" They both asked simultaneously, only to glance at each other, then back to Mrs. Coleman. Chloe  _really_  didn't like the odd feeling that had given her. She knew what this felt like. Fate was telling her she was on the right trail. Something was  _very_  wrong in this town.

"Yes, she... she said there was this black carriage she saw at the ranch earlier this week. Then, she told me it was in town. I didn't think anything of it, but..." Mrs. Coleman threatened to crumble once more. "You don't think that had something to do with it?"

"Unless there's an Amish kidnapping ring I'm unaware of, Mrs. Coleman, I don't think that's the case." Chloe's head whipped so fast at Dean's statement he probably could've felt the smack to the cheek she wanted to give him. Instead, she settled for a withering look of  _What the fuck is wrong with you._  Dean seemed to have realized what he said, and cleared his throat, his features growing serious once more. "Anyway, can you describe the carriage?"

"It was..." The woman was searching for words, truly confused as to why he was asking, but she was at least giving it a noble try. "Large, ornate, all black, was pulled by two black stallions, at least 18 hands each."

"Hands?" Dean interrupted.

"The height of a horse is measured in hands." Chloe filled in softly, motioning for Mrs. Coleman to continue. She already knew he wasn't a cop, but now she was wondering what sort of life the man had lived to somehow land him in the middle of nowhere, but not know how a horse was measured. Then again, Chloe fondly remembered, she grew up in Smallville. Emphasis on the small.

"Anyway, she mentioned that they had very large wheels, and Olivia said she and Amber saw it two days ago on main street, passing by. I don't know anything else."

Amber. That girl was going to be the key to figuring out what happened. Olivia's mother clearly didn't know anything, and if the abduction happened between when school let out and she was supposed to meet her friend, it was highly unlikely anything had happened here. For now, Chloe knew where she needed to go next.

A cell phone ringing broke her train of thought, and she turned her attention to Dean, who was standing.

"I've gotta take this, but, thanks for your time, Mrs. Coleman. I'll be in contact soon." He flipped open his phone and tromped off down the hall, his voice fading as he walked outside. "Hey, whaddya got for me?"

Chloe spoke with Mrs. Coleman for a few more minutes, mainly to wrap up the few lingering questions she had, but now? Chloe was eager to talk to Amber. And there was something about that carriage that kept bothering her. She knew it was the pull. She knew it was the Helmet trying to tell her something.

Trying to leave as quickly as possible, Chloe had hoped Dean would walk back in. Instead, he must have been having one helluva conversation, because by the time she'd left the Coleman residence, he was gone.

"Shit..." She whispered, looking around aimlessly before grabbing for her phone.

Okay, next plan. Find Amber.


	6. The B Side of the Playlist

"Whaddya got for me?"

Sam sighed at the rough tone of his brother's voice, but tried to keep his own temper in check. They were both frustrated, they were both trying to get to the bottom of this, and he just had to keep focused.

"Hey. I was gonna ask you the same thing." Sam had spent the better part of the last hour at the local library, combing through old records, hoping to find something referring to a Countess or maybe another rash of abductions. Unfortunately, he'd come up empty, so now he was on his way back to the motel, walking quickly down one of the many small streets.

"Of course, Sammy, I figured it all out without you - of  _course_  that's why I asked you if you found anything." Dean's sarcasm was laced with anger, and Sam just forced himself to roll his eyes and glance around the streets as he kept walking. "I just spent 30 minutes talking with Blondie and the abducted girl's mother, and there is something seriously weird here. I just can't figure out what."

Sam rubbed his eyes as he listened to Dean's tightly controlled statement. Hang on, Dean was going alone. The Colemans were all dark skin and dark hair. "Blondie?"

"Yeah, our next door neighbor was already in there when I got there. She was acting like she was some reporter. Something Lane? Lucy... Luze - "

Sam's eyebrows shot up as he realized what his brother was telling him. " _Lois_   _Lane?_  The woman who covers  _The Blur?_ "

Sam could practically hear his brother stop walking as he took that in. "Uhh... I guess? I dunno, those capes freak me the hell out, I try not to think about it."

As Sam crossed a fairly empty street, he took the opportunity to sit on a bench at the sidewalk. Considering Dean was still talking, and it didn't go the way he expected, something told him he shouldn't go all the way back to the motel yet. "You're a Hunter, Dean. We've seen demons, we have a gun -"

"Had a gun - "

"That kills them, and you're telling me that superheroes freak you out?" The younger Winchester chuckled, shaking his head. "You never cease to amaze me."

"That's great, Sam, that's really great, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Dean grumbled, most likely because he hated to know that Sam was looking down on him right now. Laughing. "Can you  _focus?_  We have seven girls missing in this stupid town, and I have a blonde shadow! She's freakin' me out, Sammy. So's this abduction thing."

Running a hand through his hair, Sam fell silent as he considered the next move. "Okay, well, what  _did_  you find out at the house? Anything? Gimme something to go on, because the history of this town doesn't suggest  _anything_  supernatural. Whatever's going on must have moved into the area somehow." There was silence again on Dean's end. Long silence. "Dean?"

"Shut up, tryin' to make sure I wasn't followed by Legs."

Sam heard that. Oh, no. He knew that voice, and it made him sit right up in that bench. "Legs? Dean, do you want to get her off your tail or  _is_  she tail?" The pause on the other end was too long. He knew his brother was  _actually thinking it over._  "Dean, you don't know her. Clearly, she didn't tell you her real name - "

"How'd you know that isn't actually Lois Laney or whatever her name is?" Dean paused. "Wait, unless Lois Laney is fug - "

Sam laughed hard enough to make a pedestrian turn and glance over at him across the street, and he cleared his throat, trying not to laugh like an idiot. The fact that his brother didn't know about the  _hottest_  newspaper reporter in the country - in Sam's opinion anyway - just amused him to no end. Finally, something to hold over Dean's head for some time in the future. "Dude, you are so far out of Lois Lane's league that your universe could explode and she'd never hear it. Anyway, Lois is a brunette, so, she's not our next door neighbor." Sam hadn't really gotten a look at the girl that Dean was having coffee with that morning, as his older yet shorter brother had decided to drag him away like a petulant child. But, if that was the same girl he'd 'helped' last night, it did seem oddly coincidental.

"Dude, shut up, I am so all over this. Blondie's mine." Sam was still chuckling even as Dean got all defensive of his masculinity. It would be funny if it wasn't just... an everyday, completely tiring occurrence, in Sam's opinion. "In fact, before you get any ideas, Poindexter." Dean paused, probably for effect, even if his brother knew what was coming.

Sam groaned. "Dean, don't - "

" _Dibs_."

Sam finished his groan, slumping deep into the bench, practically losing his shoulders in his sweater. "Oh, c'mon, you've gotta be  _kidding_! You don't even know her - " He wasn't sure what he was complaining about more: the fact that Dean was claiming dibs on a chick he hadn't even met, or that they'd regressed to being about 12.

"Dude, fuck that. Dibs. I called it. Now respect it." Sam dragged his hand down his face with a growl.

"This is so not why I called you, Dean, I don't care about your newest conquest. Or potential conquest. Can we  _please_  just work the job?"

Dean cleared his throat on the other end, and Sam could hear the very familiar sounds of a bell chiming as a door opened.  _Oh, for god's sake, he's at the diner._

"Dean, did you find anything? Something?"

"Yeah, I found more pie." Sam growled, and he heard his ridiculously annoying brother chuckle on the other end. "Relax, Sammy. The girl who was abducted had a friend she met after school every day."

Sitting up, Sam glanced around as he took in the new lead. "She have a name? An address?"

"Amber." Sam waited expectantly for an answer, and when he didn't get one, he cleared his throat. "What?"

"Just Amber, Dean?" He stood and began to pace slowly in front of the bench. "A last name? An address?"

"Keep your bustier on, Adora. Last name is..." Dean shuffled, and Sam heard a muffled curse as he was suddenly greeted with _fwhffwhffwhffhwff._  The idiot dropped the phone. His idiot, lovable big brother had dropped the phone, because apparently chewing gum and walking at the same time were eluding him. Forget talking. "Shit, okay, you still there? Name is Amber Rawlings."

Sam pulled a notepad and pen out of his pocket, jotting the name down as he held his phone between his ear and shoulder. "Okay, did you get an address?"

"Uh, no. I was gonna, but then you called, so I figured it was better to retreat before Leggy Blonde broke my cover. I'm gonna go, though, I got some business to take care of with my friend meringue. So, you call me when you got more." Uh-oh. Sam knew that tone of voice. He was going to -

"Dean, hang on a sec, don't hang up, I need - " Sam pulled his phone back so he could read the display. Call ended. " _Jerk_..." He hissed. As he started to plug in the number for the school, hoping he could con his way into an address, Sam's brain finally caught up to what his brother had said. "Leggy Blonde? Isn't that... Flight of the Conchords?" He shook his head and focused as the school main line picked up. He had to stop letting his brother watch HBO...

After a quick stop to the motel to change into a suit, as he felt that would look much better than his jeans and layers of shirts, Sam grabbed the car and headed down to the Rawlings household. He didn't care if Dean had wanted the car: the keys were in plain sight, fair game. It was sure to cause some sort of bickering between the two of them, but, that was par for the course.

Knocking on the door, Sam expected the parents to answer, or maybe Amber herself. He'd gotten a glimpse of the student through the school's website, and seen a girl with fiery red hair who apparently really liked horseback riding and acting. Olivia Coleman had been in some of the same pictures with Amber. They looked like the best of friends. Sisters, almost.

Sam furrowed his brow, his lips pursing as he tried not to let this get to him. His nightmare still fresh in his mind, he couldn't help but worry: was Olivia one of those girls crying? Would Amber be next?

Sam's brain stopped for a moment when the door opened. "Uh... Blondie."  _Oh dear god, SAM, what did you just SAY?_  His mind screamed at him, just as he picked his jaw up off the floor. Standing in front of him, having just opened the door, was Dean's blonde shadow. The dibs. Oh dear god, his brother's newest fascination, the girl who was staying next door to them, and who seemed to be just as interested in what was happening in town as they were was standing in front of him. In that same pair of jeans and coral top with the denim jacket that was hugging her curves in all the right ways and,  _wow_  the look on her face was not thrilled.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was barely containing her confusion, and he was pretty sure that was disgust as well. Oh, he really had said that out loud.  _Good job, Sam. Good job._ He sarcastically thought while his mouth opened and closed like a guppy for a moment.

"Um..." Sam fished. "I am... Deputy..."  _Ah-ha, that's right, focus on the con and just pretend you didn't say it._  "Deputy Biggs with the Sheriff's department." Once the first lie was out of his mouth, Sam could feel himself relaxing. In some ways, he and his brother were so good at conning. And in other ways... just oh-so-bad. Sam wasn't sure which one this would be yet. All he knew was that he wasn't stupid enough to get between Dean and his newest fascination, but he wasn't going to live this down. Dean was gonna have his head for meeting his Leggy Blonde. "I'm looking for Amber Rawlings, we believe she may have pertinent information to her friend's kidnapping."

Not-Lois-Lane opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a shadow fell over the hallway as a tall - even by Sam's standards - older man stepped into the room. "Thank you, Mrs. Lance, let me speak to the Deputy."

Not-Lois-Lane-now-Miss-Leggy-Blonde-Lance ( _Whew, any more aliases in one day and I'm going to need a notebook)_  smiled and stepped aside, out of view.

"What can I do for you, sir?" The older man wasn't smiling, and the wrinkles in his face made the simple firm look he was giving Sam seem positively withering.

Clearing his throat and reaching up to run a finger under his collar to slightly loosen his tie, he let out a deep breath so he could get a grip on what he was doing here. "Are you Amber's father?" A stoic nod was all the response he'd get. Okay... "I'm hoping to speak to her about what happened yesterday. With her friend Olivia. Any details we can get will be instrumental to finding her. The first 48 hours are the most important - "

Amber's father held his hand up to shut Sam up, then simply flicked his fingers in a motion to invite him in. Turning away from Sam and stepping back so the Winchester could enter the hallway, he bellowed up the stairs behind him: " _Amber, get down here! Now!_ "

Odd way to treat someone who just found out her friend was kidnapped...

Amber came down the stairs wrapped in sadness and flannel, it seemed. She was in green plaid pajamas, her red hair strewn everywhere. She probably hadn't slept. Sam's heart clenched, and he took a deep breath. Poor kid. On Saturday mornings, kids should be out playing, not dealing with the fact that a friend might be dead. Or worse.

Sam's sympathetic expression was completely genuine as he crossed the hallway to meet her at the base of the stairs. "Amber, hi. I'm Deputy Garrick Biggs, mind if I talk to you for a few minutes?"

Amber reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes. Sam couldn't help but notice that she was pointedly ignoring her father's stern glower her way, and instead, focused solely on him. "Um... I already told everything to Dinah."

"Dinah?" Sam asked quietly, glancing from Amber to her father.

"Ms. Lance is a new counselor for the school. And she's explained all of this, so - "

"Please, Mr. Rawlings, I understand your concerns, but I do need to speak directly with Amber." Sam was getting the distinct impression he did  _not_  like this guy. It felt like he was hiding something. It would have to wait, though. "Is there somewhere we can sit?"

Amber nodded, and she walked past her father further into the house, Sam on her heels until they were in a sitting room in the back. He could barely make out the sounds of conversation in the other room. Probably the mother and Whoever-The-Hell-She-Called-Herself. Sam was going to have to find a way to meet with her before he touched base with Dean. If she had no problem switching aliases between houses, and they were currently staying right next door to her, Sam wanted to know as much as he possibly could. She was familiar, too...

That was about the moment that Sam took a seat on the couch, the wave of recognition passing over him like a ice cold tidal wave. Blondie... he knew her face, she was in his  _vision!_

"Look, can we make this fast?" Amber's question forced Sam to focus on the task at hand. "I don't know where Olivia is, and I just want her home -"

He pulled free his notebook and held his hand up to politely ask her to stop. "Hang on, Amber. Just... can you take a deep breath for me?" He practically coached her through calming down a little. Which was good. Because Sam was hardly keeping his panicked mind at bay, and calming her was helping to calm him. He really needed to get a grip here. "Okay, so, run through yesterday for me." Sam smiled at her warmly, hoping to put her at ease. "Anything you saw or noticed could help us."

Amber curled up into the couch she was seated upon, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them. At first, Sam was concerned she was going to shut down, not speak at all. But, whether it was to steel herself, or because she had second thoughts, Amber chose to look at Sam and open up. "I didn't see her that much yesterday. It's my B day, and we don't have many classes together on B days. So, I hung out with her during home room, then at lunch. We met after school so that we could walk to the coffee shop, but, I had to go back for one of my textbooks." Amber fell silent again.

When it didn't seem like she'd continue, Sam cleared his throat gently to urge her on. "What happened when you came back from your locker?"

It had almost been like she'd forgotten he was in the room. "Oh..." Amber gave him an absent glance before staring at her knees once more. "When I got outside, the buses had left and the walkers were already on their way home. Olivia wasn't there. I thought - " Amber's breath caught in her throat. "I thought maybe she just went to Java Jack's without me, so I thought I'd just catch up and she..." The poor girl must have been crying all day, because as much as her voice grew thick with emotion, tears didn't want to fall. "I waited until it got dark and that was around when Mrs. Coleman called. I had no idea. If I'd just picked up my book - "

"I told you it's not your fault, Amber." The sentiment was Sam's, but the words weren't. He turned to look behind him, and felt his heart stop again. It was the woman in his vision, all right, leaning against the doorframe, a mug of coffee in hand as she watched the young girl. Not good. He didn't even care why she was conning right now, he was now concerned about how he could save her from the fate he'd seen. He didn't care what she'd done in life, what she was or wasn't doing right now - no one deserved to feel that wash of abject terror that he'd been consumed with.

"Dinah, if I'd just - "

"Dinah" pushed off of the doorframe and crossed the room, completely ignoring Sam, it seemed. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been ignored by a pretty woman. She took a seat beside Amber, setting her coffee mug on the side table at the edge of the couch. "I want you to listen to me." The way she took Amber's hand was comforting, even from where Sam sat almost five feet away. This woman just radiated... what, hope? Optimism? "What happened to Olivia is not your fault, and it will _never_  be your fault. So, do not blame yourself. I want you to focus on helping find her." She smiled at the younger girl, and Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Wow. A smile like that could end wars. "But, I can tell you're tired, and you're frustrated. So right now? You should rest. I'll talk with the deputy here, and if he needs anything else," Her blonde hair swayed as she tossed her bangs out of her eyes, giving Amber a more mischievous grin. "He'll have to go through me first."

A smile broke onto the younger girl's face, and Sam found himself completely enthralled. He didn't care if she was conning anyone, "Dinah" really had a positive effect on the girl.

"Deputy, can I speak with you? Outside?" Amber was already heading down the hall towards the stairs, and "Dinah" was now waiting in front of him, staring down at him with her hands in her jacket pockets.

Why did he not like the sound of that?

Sam stood, nodding and motioning for her to lead the way, at a slight loss for words. That wasn't too much a shock, either. Normally, he and Dean ran the cons, and he wasn't worried about anyone else conning him. And here he was, trying to figure out what the hell was happening in this town and so far, the only thing he had linking things together? A vision, with this woman square in the middle of it.

The two of them walked in awkward, tense silence until they were down the street and away from the house a little ways. With every step, Sam's expression grew more worried, more concerned, as he tried to figure out what to do next. It wasn't the first time he'd had a vision about someone, but then he always ran into that weird problem of... what? Walking up to them and going  _Hi, there, you don't know me, but I had a vision about you dying, and I have no idea how to prevent it, so if you could just bear with me, that would be -_

Sam landed on his back with a  _painful_  thud, the wind completely knocked out of him. "Dinah Lance's" heel was very painfully positioned against his stomach in a nausea-inducing fashion, and there was a very,  _very_  shiny, clean barrel of a gun in his face. " _Woah! Woah!_ " He breathed, raising his hands in surrender -

"Don't move. Keep your hands right where they are." Her voice was brusque, crisp, and commanding. Really? This pixie? Holy  _crap_ , that was not what he expected. "I've taken down enough meteor freaks and Checkmate associates to know a con man when I've seen one. So, unless you're eagerly waiting to purchase a ticket on the ferry across the River Styx, you're going to tell me why you and your partner are following me."

Following  _her?_ Seriously? It was just his luck. "We're not following you!" Sam pleaded, at least thankful that his voice was deep. It sounded far more confident than he felt at the moment. "Look, we're just trying to figure how what happened to those girls!"

"It's funny how I don't believe you," Her voice was cold, almost calculating, as if she had expected this to happen.  _Well_ ,  _duh, Sam, she's the one holding you hostage, not the other way around._

"Look, my brother and I," Sam huffed, trying to think of the best method to go from here. Considering how easily she'd dropped him, and some weird mention of meteor freaks and Checkmate, whatever that was, he was thinking he needed to come clean. "My brother and I were passing through and we heard about the abductions. We investigate strange things, okay? That's all this is! We're just trying to help!"

The gun lowered slightly, and Sam could finally see her face, totally unobscured. Her blonde hair looked even more light and radiant against the murky gray sky. Yet she was the one carrying the gun. Go figure.

"Besides, we're not the only ones conning to find out what's going on, are we, Miss Lane?" Sam noted the way her hand wavered, and it was then that he realized the gun's safety was still on. She didn't seem to even notice. "Or is Lance your real name?" He paused, debating if he should take advantage of the distraction. "Tell me, why are you so scared that you're using multiple aliases in the same town? No good con man does that."

She hesitated again. There it was. She was just as scared as he was, and Sam needed to know why. Finally, she spoke. "Lying's the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off."

"Panic at the - "

The last thing Sam saw was the heel of her shoe as it struck him again, and the world went dark.


	7. Hot Pursuit

Schmoozing with the locals at the diner worked pretty well, if by pretty well, Dean meant "sucked all ass but yielded another piece of pie and the best damn BLT he'd had in a while." The damn decent diner food aside, the last hour had yielded no results in regards to the abductions. In fact, the locals seemed more locked down than Fort Knox.

He couldn't figure it out. Seven little girls between 6 and 14 were missing over the span of two months, but not one damn local civilian was willing to tell him anything other than the bare details. He knew they were all pretty happy kids with parents who had enough money to pay for extracurriculars, and they'd all gone missing after school. There wasn't a specific pattern of where, though. Or if there was, no one was willing to tell "Sheriff Aldrich." If anything, they seemed afraid of the authorities. The only exception had been Mrs. Coleman, and he'd gotten a pretty quick call back from Mister Coleman that the authorities could conduct their investigation without the Colemans' assistance.

So, they were either scared because they knew who or what took their children and didn't want it to come back? Or they were involved. Either way, it was stabbing at a place in Dean's heart he tried to forget more often than not. The part of his heart where he had to take care of Sam, had to take care of kids like he took care of Sam, because goddammit, they couldn't take care of themselves.

As he mulled over an order of fries, Dean checked the time again. It was 1 PM. He hadn't heard hide nor hair of his brother for the last three hours, and he was ready to blow this popstand in favor of a legit lead. He wasn't gonna find anything in this mom and pop joint. Really, he should head back to the motel, see if he could get another chance to chat up Blondie...

Dean grimaced. Okay, well, as much as he really wanted to dance the horizontal mambo with Cute-Chloe-Who-Likes-Her-Coffee, he was more concerned at the name-shuffling. He figured Sammy must have known something about this actual Lois Lane chick, and he was pretty convinced she wasn't the real deal. So, was her name Chloe? Had that been a lie from the get-go? Who knew? He and Sam had played cons with fake names and real ones, but this was the first time he could remember getting caught with his alias at the same time he caught someone else with theirs. A little smirk graced his features as he considered the situation. To be fair, this fellow con artist could have been way less attractive or spunky.

Holy shit. He just thought Chloe was "spunky." Apparently, his internal monologue was hosted by Bob Saget and the rest of the cast of Full House.

Dear god, he needed out of this town.

Glancing up at the one TV in the diner, he sighed. News. National news. The ticker read in big white letters against a red background " **VIGILANTE OR HERO - QUEEN REVEALS IDENTITY AS GREEN ARROW - EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW IN REGARDS TO DECISION - PUBLIC REACTS -**  "

Dean stood, tossing a couple bucks for a tip onto the table and turned to leave. Capes. He didn't get it. Ghosts, he could understand. Zombies, demons, all that stuff made sense. People? People were just buckets of fucknuts. Couldn't predict them, couldn't just toss salt on them. And yet these superheroes were just totally cool hopping around in costume stopping bank robberies and mobsters.  _Give me a ghost any time._

Shrugging his jacket back on, he tried to turn his attention back to that whole people being crazy thing. He was gonna have to have a chat with Chloe, find out what she was doing in this town. The late night, being at the victim's house? Maybe she was a Hunter? Of course, there were plenty of other things that she could be, but he'd like to think she was a Hunter. Dean was a least common denominator kind of guy. That or he was thinking with his downstairs brain, and the notion of a Hunter chick who wasn't a) crazy, b) Ellen, or c) Jo was very refreshing. She looked athletic, from what he could tell. Her arms were sculpted, and from what he'd seen of how her jeans hugged her hips, she had a  _helluva_  backside. Definitely thinking hunter, because there was no way in  _hell_  some cape would be all the way out in the middle of nowhere. He still had a hard time believing that Blur guy operated out of Kansas.

As he took a step back outside, Dean glanced up at the sky with furrowed brow. It had been murky and gray all day, but now? Now it was even darker, threatening rain even. No, actually, it should be raining it was so dark out, but nothing was happening. Well, except that the wind seemed colder.

Pulling his jacket tighter, Dean looked down the street, turning to make it back to the motel. At least, that was the plan.

His footsteps faltered mid-stride.

Not more than 20 meters from him, a small wraith of a girl, no older than ten, maybe, stood staring at him. Her emaciated body was draped in flimsy fabric, a nightgown. He could tell the gown was white, but the deep red stains, the crimson trails of blood from the girl's brow to her collar... she looked like someone had taken a knife to every inch of her. His throat had gone dry, his chest felt like it had been hit with a semi. Thoughts had come to a screeching halt. She was just a little girl. She was a  _little fucking girl!_

She took a disjointed step towards him, and fell to a knee, her whole body moving in unearthly, broken spasms. The only sound on the entire street seemed to be his heartbeat, which matched a terrifying rhythm set by the girl's attempts to come closer.

A car pulled past him, honking loudly to stop him before he fell off the curb. Jumping a mile, Dean's entire body was awash in icy fear. He blinked, and the girl was gone, nothing but an empty street, and the sky had gone back to that bright murky gray.

"Okay..." He whispered, his mind finally working again. " _Definitely_  supernatural..."

Swallowing thickly, he rummaged through his pockets to find his phone. Time to call Sammy. Right now.

Speed-dialing his brother's number, Dean started to jog down the sidewalk, wishing he hadn't left his gadgets in the damn car. An EMF reader would be seriously be helpful for his sanity right now. By the time he'd reached the intersection, he was standing right where he'd seen the girl, but it wasn't like he could feel anything. He didn't smell sulfur, so he was going to go with his initial assumption of ghost.

Sonuva _bitch_ , why wasn't Sam answering his goddamn phone?

As he heard his voicemail click over, Dean ran a hand down his face before continuing his walk towards the motel. "Sammy, call me, we got a problem. I just saw some chick who looked like she popped out of a J-horror movie right in the middle of the damn street. Either she was trying to communicate, or she wanted to eat my face, I don't really know, but either way, call my ass!" Dean slapped his phone shut in frustration. Samantha was  _useless_  sometimes. Most of the time.

Fine. He'd go back to the motel and get his car so he could find...

His car.

His car had just driven by.

Dean blinked, his jaw going slack and his eyebrows shooting up to the sky as he watched his Baby drive down the street... with a distinctly blonde woman in the driver's seat.

"That's my car..." He breathed, his feet still frozen in place as it began to turn around the corner. "That's my  _car!_ " He barked, finally spurring his feet into action.

Dean took off down the street at breakneck speed. Somehow, Blondie had gotten her hands on his  _Baby_  and was driving her around town! Where the hell was his brother? Nevermind the fact that it was heading  _towards_  the motel, which meant his pansy brother had not only  _taken his car,_ but he had  _managed to get it yanked!_

Oh, that bitch was  _so dead_  when he got a hold of him.

Dean bolted down the road, following after his car in what would be comical if it didn't suck so much ass. Thankfully, the motel was a whopping mile away, so he knew he could run that if he had to, but that didn't help that his car roared even louder and took off ahead of him. Out of sight.

Dean's feet finally slowed to a pained walk as he realized he'd lost complete sight of where his car was. Holy shit, that Blonde bitch had stolen his car!  _Who the hell did that?_

"OH, C'MON!" Dean shouted at the empty road, enraged. Taking a deep breath, he started to jog again. Maybe he'd be lucky. Maybe he'd reach the motel and she was hanging out waiting for him. It was a nice fantasy, but it was the only thing keeping him calm. Dear  _god_ , his poor baby.

Five minutes later, Dean rounded the corner to the motel. His baby, oh, dear sweet hopscotching Christ, his baby was  _right there_. Trying to calm his labored breathing, he took stock in his surroundings.

It seemed quiet enough. The motel parking lot was sparse, empty save for one or two other vehicles. His baby was parked just two spots over from where he'd left it. His and Sam's motel room seemed fine, on the outside. Creeping over towards his baby, he stole a glance inside.

Blondie was not in the car, that much seemed obvious.

Okay, so his car was empty and seemed unscathed. Thank  _God._  Time to call Sam and figure out how to catch that sassy blonde thing so he could determine the adequate punishment for taking his car out for a joyride. Seriously! Who the hell did that? What was wrong with this chick?

"Cannot believe this..." Dean hissed as he pulled his phone and speed-dialed Sam again. "Who friggin' does that? Who just takes someone's car and just - gah, I was really hoping for not-crazy for a little while..." He continued to grumble as the phone started ringing.

And then Sammy's completely gay-emo-whiny-guitars-and-angst ringtone sounded from inside the Impala.

Inside Dean's car. That Blondie had been driving.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Dean wrenched open the driver's side door and dove in so he could find Sam's phone. After a few moments of scrambling, Dean found Sam's phone halfway under the passenger seat. He wormed his way back out of the car until he could take a seat and thumb through the phone's most recent call list.

"Sonuvabitch, Sammy," He snarled under his breath as he read through the missed calls, then toggled over to voicemail. He hadn't checked his voicemail since getting off the phone the first time.

Nostrils flaring, Dean hopped up, making his way to the back so he could pop the trunk.

Where the  _hell_  was his brother?

Dean hadn't forgotten about Chloe, but now that he knew he had the Impala back - oh, all bets were off. He found his 9 mil and shut the trunk with a resounding thud. He checked the gun over one last time, just to be sure, even though he knew he left it loaded with a clip at all times. Yup, full stock. Now, he was gonna go march up to Chloe's room and find out where Sammy -

He heard a door open ahead of him, and Dean looked up like a wolf sensing prey. He heard the jingling of change before his eyes finally made their way to the victim of his anger. There she was. She'd changed since he'd seen her, and she wasn't focused on Dean. Her gaze was solely focused on her phone.

Dean made a move to hide, ducking behind the Impala, hoping that he could check out her room first, figuring that Sam was probably nearby. Also, she seemed calm, she didn't seem to be on the way out of here just yet. If anything, the change in her hand suggested another coffee run. Good.

Chloe's footsteps passed on the other side of the Impala, and he could overhear something she was saying. "Glad to see you're carrying my Torch," There was a chuckle, and she was past the car. She sounded staccato, like she was typing it out. Torch, huh? That sounded painful. And awkward. Or maybe she just liked having guys drooling over her?

Dean slowly rose just enough that he could see through the windows of the car. Her back was to him. Perfect. Pulling his gun just to be prepared, he began to softly back away towards the stairs of the motel room. This would be easy. In and out. Go into the motel room, look for Sammy, look for clues as to what really was going on with this Chloe chick and from there -

Dean froze as his heel sent an errant Coke can careening through the parking lot. His whole body tensed, but it was too late. Chloe had whirled on her feet, looking back at him, her phone in her hand forgotten.

And then she ran.

"Sonuva _bitch!_ " It was apparently gonna be one of those upwards-of-20-sonsofbitches days for Dean. He took off after her just as she ducked around the corner of the motel lobby. A crash of thunder, a flash of lightning split open the sky above them and rain began to pour in a torrent down on the two of them. The moment he'd rounded the corner, he caught sight of her heading out towards the woods behind the motel, and Dean's feet moved even faster. He wasn't even sure why he was running after her anyway. For all he knew, Sam really was just sitting in Chloe's hotel room and she was afraid he was, what, out to get her? Seriously?

Dean nearly fell on his ass as he slipped on the now slick grass, and he wiped his face off on his jacket sleeve as he kept running full-tilt after her. "Stop running!" He finally shouted after her, having just about pegged on his weird shit-o-meter for the day. "CHLOE!" Dean bellowed as he watched her vault over a fallen tree trunk and into the woods.

"Dammit!" Dean had no choice but to follow after her. She wasn't running like someone who knew why they were running. She was darting, she'd kept looking back at him, scared. His conscience wasn't going to let her get hurt. Not if he could help it.

Leaping over that same tree trunk she had only moments before, he found himself wishing for a flashlight as he came to a brief stop on a dirt path. The darkness of the storm combined with the thick tree cover made the place eerie, sopping wet, and impossible to navigate. He caught sight of the blonde in the middle of the torrential, bone-soaking downpour, though, and took off again in her direction.

"Wait up!" Dean's voice was getting lost in the rain and trees blowing above them. Not good. As the game of cat and mouse continued at breakneck speed, Dean swore as Chloe suddenly dropped from view. Literally. Dropped. One second, he could see her, and the next, she had suddenly slipped down out of his line of sight.

A horse's neigh pierced the otherwise monotonous noise in the thunderstorm.

Dean grabbed a tree trunk and skidded to a halt. Was that a  _horse?_  Craning his neck to listen, brow furrowed, concern settled into a lump in his stomach for some reason. He wasn't hearing just a horse. No, he distinctly heard multiple hooves... in as dense a forest as this one? No horse could just start galloping through it without breaking a leg, right? He'd seen Seabiscuit -

A scream that sent Dean's entire body on edge echoed through the woods. Whatever he'd been thinking, considering, worrying about Chloe had gone completely out the window at how terrified she sounded. He hadn't heard her voice that many times, but he knew fear. He understood that fear.

Bolting forward towards the ridge where he'd last seen her, Dean took a flying leap right off the ridge and down the six feet to a clearing below. His boots stuck in mud, but he reached back, bracing himself on the dirt embankment behind him.

A black carriage loomed in front of him in the rain, two stallions rearing in the lightning as they threatened to trample Chloe, who was down on the ground, huddled and covering her head.

Without thinking, he aimed and fired. Three shots went off, all aimed at the bodies of the stallions. There wasn't a hesitation, he just took action. That was the kind of man Dean Winchester was.

So he certainly didn't expect for the entire carriage and stallion mass just... disappear. To his credit, the only reaction he gave was a quirk of his eyebrow. Lowering the weapon, Dean didn't take his eyes off of where the carriage had been as he stepped over to Chloe. He bent down, still looking at the clearing, and reached for her arm. "Hey, c'mon, let's go, before it - GUH!"

Dean felt his gun fly right out of his hand as he was suddenly slammed into the ground, cracking his head against the surprisingly hard yet muddy surface. She was suddenly on top of him, pinning him, hands around his throat as the rain kept pouring. "Stop!" Dean coughed as slender fingers suddenly pressed against his neck, starting to slowly cut off his air supply. The look on her face was desperate, but more importantly, still terrified. Of him or the carriage, he didn't have time to say.

He really hated hitting chicks, so he tried to avoid it when he could. As he felt her nails digging into his skin, though, he wasn't sure this was one of those times. He grabbed her shoulders, and with a growl, rolled them, getting a grip of her wrists and pinning her to the ground, using his full weight to keep her there. " _Knock it off!_ " He bellowed against the rain and wind. "I just saved your ass, so stop tryin' to kill me!"

Another bolt of lightning blazed across the sky, and in the eerie flash, Dean could tell her eyes were closed. She was just fighting to fight?

"Chloe!" Dean shook her a little. "Open your damn eyes and look at me!" Still, she remained with her eyes shut, her hands grasping at air as she tried to free herself. "Blondie,  _I'm not tryin' to hurt you!_ It's _Dean!_ "

Chloe's bright blue eyes opened as if she'd been jolted by lightning herself. The fear he saw there chilled him, but it slowly gave way to recognition. And then her gaze turned cold, despite the heated breathing between the two of them.  _Way to think with the wrong brain right now, Dean_.

"Who do you work for?" The question sounded far more calm than her body language had given away, but now Chloe was all business to an extent that left him slightly speechless. Only slightly.

"Look, Legs, I don't know what you think me and my brother are up to, but we're not trying to hurt you. Our names are Dean and Sam Winchester. That's it. We're just trying to figure out who the hell is taking those girls." He watched her expression as she took it all in, but goddammit, he just couldn't get a read on her. "I'm bettin' that's why you're here, too."

"You're not Checkmate." Okay, statement, not question.

"The hell is Checkmate?"

Chloe's expression softened, and she took a deep breath, relaxing against him finally. "God, I'm so sorry. I completely messed this up." Dean waited for her to explain further. "Look, your brother is fine. He's still in your motel room. I just... Look, can I explain this..." There was a long pause, and it occurred to Dean that even in the pouring rain, he didn't want to move off of her. This crazy chick who had taken his car, run into the woods and now was acting like she had probably seen weirder shit every day... and Dean found himself doing that thing he hated to admit he was doing. He was getting drawn in by those lips and that soaked blonde hair and... she was saying something.

"Hm?"

Chloe cleared her throat, glancing down at his chest against hers. "I promise I'm not going to run. Or hurt you or your brother. But clearly, we need to talk."

Dean pulled back. The moment was over, and just as well. Standing, he reached down and took her hand, helping her up gingerly.

Five minutes later, and the two of them were in her motel room, out of the rain. Dean hadn't wanted to leave her, for obvious reasons, but he'd needed to check on Sam. So, once he knew she was changing clothes, and dear  _god_ , he could not believe he was even  _thinking_ of leaving a room while one of the hottest girls he had ever seen was about to change - he popped over to his motel room.

"Sammy?" A groan greeted Dean in response, and he crossed the room to Sam's bed, where his floppy-haired sister was starting to wake up.

"Dean..." The groan was almost unintelligible, and the lump on the bed slowly sat up, hair in his eyes ad nauseum. He almost felt bad at how out of sorts he looked. But, now that Sam was safe, the car was safe, Dean had begun to relax.

Before Sam could say anything else, though, Dean turned as he heard the motel room door open. He'd forgotten that Chloe had Sam's motel key card, and here she was, standing in the motel room in black pants and an olive green shirt.

"Hi, Sam." Chloe winced a little as she caught sight of the goose egg forming on his brother's noggin. "Sorry about the kick. I had to make sure you weren't Checkmate. Or part of Slade's group."

Dean rose an eyebrow. "Who's Slade?"

Chloe's expression changed to one of cryptic smiling, hidden knowledge. "He's not important." She tilted her head to the side. "Right now, anyway." Oh, yeah. Weird shit-o-meter totally pegged. "Point is, I checked, and while your wrap sheets suggest you are clear candidates for the Suicide Squad, the clueless looks on your faces and my database tell me you're not." Chloe made her way over to the bed Dean had claimed as his own, and took a seat, crossing one leg over the other in a way that made him suddenly want his brother so  _so_  out of the room.

"So let me start over." Chloe smiled, taking a deep breath. "My name is Chloe Sullivan. Technically, I don't exist. I help people. And I'd like to think you do, too..."


	8. Red Needle

An entire week had passed for Chloe Sullivan since she'd been confronted by that mysterious black carriage, only to be rescued by Dean Winchester. The one who would be there when she sacrificed her sanity.

After that initially awkward - it took a few minutes to explain that she'd brought Sam back to the motel with the car only because she figured it would be less suspicious than leaving him knocked out in it - but ultimately positive conversation about their real purposes for being in town, Chloe had been remarkably relieved to find that Dean and Sam were far less freaked out by the idea of a ghost carriage and abducted girls than she'd thought they would be. And she'd had to sort of play with the truth a little, but she'd been - for the most part - honest about herself. She'd just truncated her description of her life to end at the Isis Foundation. For obvious reasons, she wasn't about to divulge anything past the good Samaritan role. And they were fine with that. Not that she should have been surprised. Hunters, apparently. She had remembered briefly hearing about people who actually hunted and took care of the supernatural, but nothing had ever touched Smallville or Metropolis in great enough concern for them to be interested. Hunters favored discretion, at least what little bit of information she'd gathered told her so. To be honest, she'd thought them an urban legend of sorts, or heroes in waiting. The way that Dean talked about the girls who were taken? It brought out Chloe's desire to help summon the hero in his heart.

And it was very difficult not to. Dean was a natural hero. He took this "job" as he and his brother called it very seriously. He didn't like when kids were threatened, that much was painfully obvious. While Dean was all eyebrows and flirtatious looks, when he thought she wasn't watching him, she could see the facade fade. Dean wore his heart on his shirt sleeve. She just had to wait for him to take off his jacket.

Sam, on the other hand, reminded her of her early days with the Isis Foundation. Before she'd jacked into the Matrix that was Watchtower, she'd just been someone looking for people to help. And before that, in school. She'd been the one combing the town for her Wall of Weird, trying to get to the bottom of every mystery. That was Sam.

Even though Sam seemed to be the straight man to Dean's funny guy, the two of them clearly would step in the line of a bullet for the other. Even with a week of no real information, no new leads, the two brothers still carried on like everything was fine. Dean teased Sam with something he'd detailed to Chloe was the "Bitchface" while Sam teased Dean about being a jerk and told Chloe that his brother was prone to being "Wooby". Whatever that meant.

And they'd just thrown her in the mix, too, like it was nothing. For the last week, she'd come over every morning with her laptop and coffees, or, if she had stayed up too late the night before, sometimes they were knocking on her door, coffee also in tow. Dean had already made at least five obligatory jokes about how short she was because all the coffee stunted her growth, and all she did was point out that his brother was probably a demi-god he was so tall.

All in all, it had felt like Watchtower. It had felt like the team. It had felt like she was expecting Vic or AC to join them with a smile and a 'Hey, why didn't you tell us there were people to save here, Chloe?'

Which was why Friday morning, she had broken down into earth-shattering sobs in her shower. Her world had come crashing down at the realization that she had no family, no friends save the two strangers she'd happened to get thrown against. Oliver was going through this trial by fire and media alone, and that had been the last thing she wanted for him. She knew that this Darkness approaching the world was this nebulous, terrifying entity that she just didn't know anything about. All she had known was that Fate had given her the necessary information to carry her through the last four months. Chloe had planned her escape from Flagg, had Tess remove her digital existence, and had accepted that she wouldn't know where she'd wake up next. She'd done  _everything_  Fate had asked of her! She'd taken time to learn of Paradise Island and the Amazons, had helped Diana come to "Patriarch's world" to bring her wonders to a people who needed them. She'd walked Bruce back off the ledge of self-sacrifice he was teetering upon, and she had spent a whole month talking with Ted in the hopes that he could decipher the mysteries of Fate.

And what had it gotten her?

Nothing new from Dr. Fate. Her knowledge of her friends' lives had ended with the Smallville high school reunion. She was flying blind, the helmet had abandoned her. While Chloe had put all of those careful technological breadcrumbs across every corner of the Internet, ready and waiting for Flagg to just ping on that radar, to brush against it so she could know where he was before he found her... she really knew nothing. She was lost. Chloe Sullivan was lost.

As Chloe sat huddled in a shower that had grown cold, the knowledge that she was so lost weighed on her as though the walls had closed in, crushing her. She couldn't breathe, panic had begun to set in.  _No one would even know if you died tonight_ , a thought came out of nowhere, whispering in her mind like a subtle, chilling caress. _You have sacrificed everything and they'll never even know. You wouldn't be missed..._  Maybe she should just... stop trying...

Pounding from outside the bathroom got her attention, and she heard someone calling her name.

Sam. Dean. They sounded unhappy.

Speaking of unhappy,  _what the_ _ **hell**_ _had she been thinking?_

Chloe hurriedly rose and shut off the water, ignoring how cold she was so she could grab a towel and wrap it around her body. She didn't care about the cold, she cared about what the hell she'd just been doing. Chloe Sullivan did not  _wallow._  Even when she lost Jimmy both times - first from the failed marriage, and then when he died, and even when she'd been tortured and interrogated by Rick Flagg and his team... She. Did. Not. Wallow.

That was actually out of character for her.

More pounding on the door, and Chloe found herself wondering if the boys were going to actually knock it down if she didn't answer. Opening the door to the bathroom, she searched for her clothes. "I'm in here, gimme a minute!" She shouted to the door, catching a glimpse at both Winchesters through the gap in her curtains. They seemed to get the idea, because they'd turned their attention from the door to each other, and were talking. She had a very small list of possible topics in her mind.

 _Probably me_... She thought idly as she slipped on a pair of black bikini panties and a pair of black slacks. Chloe had caught plenty of glances sent her way, heard every little flirtatious thing that had come out of Dean's mouth. It was making the distance from Oliver, the knowledge that she would probably never see him again, even after she helped secure his safety, seem a little easier to bear. It was harmless for now, and as long as it stayed that way, she could keep that particular lonely wolf at bay.

Slipping on a pretty yellow floral print shirt over a black three-quarters blouse, she glanced at herself in the mirror. She remembered the last time she'd worn that blouse. She'd just met Carter and the rest of the JSA.  _Do you have any idea where we can find Icicle?_   _I've got one or two. Unless this is costumes only._  A faint smile played across Chloe's lips from the memory, and she caught it in her reflection just before she turned and made her way to the door, opening it.

"Sorry about that, you two." Chloe put on her best smile for them, ushering them inside. If she thought positive, things would get better. She'd told herself that this long, no reason to stop now. "You know the rules," She grinned as she shut the door, turning to face them. "No shop talk unless the offering of coffee has been..." Chloe trailed off at the trembling, worried look on Sam's face, and the iron-clad set jaw on Dean's. "What is it?" Chloe's smile had faded, but they still hadn't spoken. "Guys. Dean, Sam, what is it?"

Dean had started to pace across the room, like he was going to bolt out of there if he didn't start moving somehow.

"Another girl's gone missing." Chloe said softly, eyes still locked on Dean. "Am I right?"

"We need to find this sonuvabitch," Dean growled, the sound sending a shiver through her body that made her eyebrows raise. "And when I do, I am gonna make that thing pay for every single girl it hurt. Who the  _fuck_  does this?  _Why_  the fuck would they do it?"

Clearly, Dean was too angry to actually vocalize facts, and so Chloe turned her attention to the younger Winchester. Sam was now sitting on her bed, hands clasped together and hanging between his legs, looking up at her. "This morning. Amber Rawlings."

Chloe's mouth went dry. Amber. The poor girl had just spent a week trying to live her life with parents who seemed angry that she'd talked to Chloe at all...

Chloe slowly sank until she was sitting on the corner of the small desk at the window. "Are you sure?"

"I..." Sam's voice had faltered, so Chloe rose her eyes to meet his. Instead, he was looking at his brother, as if seeking for permission for something. "Uh..."

Dean waved a hand, the irritation he felt coming off him in waves. "What, you looking for an invitation? Tell her, Sammy!"

Sam's frustrated look didn't seem to have anything to do with the childish nickname. "Dean, are you - "

"Tell me  _what,_ Sam?" Chloe couldn't believe they were practically having a non-verbal conversation about whether or not they could trust her with information about the kidnappings. They'd all been forthcoming with what they knew. At least... Chloe had. "Look, if you have something to say, Lewis and Clark, then say it. We've been shucking around this town for a week, and all of a sudden, Amber goes missing. I know she was worried about her family, if she ran away - "

"She didn't, Chloe." Sam cut her off gently, holding his hands up to nicely silence her, which she obliged. "Look... if I told you I just knew, would you believe me?"

The way he said that, with such absolute conviction... Chloe knew how that felt. It was how she felt knowing what was going to happen for four months before it actually happened. Clearly, the Winchesters had a secret they weren't sharing. And in this case, she couldn't blame them.

"Okay, fine." Chloe gave him a little half-smile to show him there were no hard feelings. "Then what  _do_  you know? We're up to 8 girls now, all occurring every week. Any red flags waving for you guys, or is this just a big blank game of Minesweeper for you, too?"

Dean hadn't stopped pacing, and while normally Chloe's method of trying to diffuse tension via simile and metaphor worked like a charm, it wasn't going to here. "We are missing something. Something big." Chloe frowned and stood up, making her way over towards him as he kept musing. "Why, Amber? Cause she knew something? I didn't even have to meet the girl to know she was holding back - " Chloe reached out and grabbed his arm gently before he could go for another round of pacing. Dean whirled, looking down at her hand, then back up to her eyes. "What?" He huffed, his expression one step away from laying into something.

"You're making me dizzy, that's what." Chloe needed Dean to calm down or he was just going to keep being a distraction. He was almost as bad as Clark. At least Dean didn't superspeed away. "Please sit down." Chloe let that harsh edge in her voice disappear, falling into the role she knew best. Sidekick to the hero. "We're gonna figure this out, Dean. But not if you're pacing and snarling like a caged wolf."

At first, Chloe was afraid her words had fallen on deaf ears. All she could feel was the tense muscle of his bicep underneath the layers of leather and cotton he wore. All she could hear was his breathing, and all she could see was those hazel eyes that had tinged an even more vibrant green. A voice in the back of her mind softly remarked,  _It's always green, isn't it?_

Before she could really let that thought sink in, Dean's gaze broke from hers, and he nodded, staring at the floor. "Right, fine, no, you're right." He cleared his throat, pulling away from her grip. Chloe could feel her stomach flip at the notion that he'd felt some reluctance to break contact with her, and she took a deep, steadying breath, heading over to her little kitchenette.

"Let me get a cup of coffee going, and in the meantime," Chloe said absently as she kept her feet moving, trying to ignore the rogue thoughts that seemed to be intent on distracting her from the task at hand. "Tell me what you guys know. Maybe if you give me the full narration, I can Cliff Notes the clues." Chloe busied herself with scooping coffee from her little bag of grounds she'd bought from the shop on the main street earlier that week. She really wanted to just go and get coffee now, but considering how antsy all of them were, she just wanted them to start talking.

Sure enough, that seemed to be exactly what they needed.

Sam was the first to speak. "Amber was on her way to school this morning, walking with one of her other friends. The friend, Nicole, said that Amber thought she saw something behind them."

Dean followed, and she glanced back to see that he had finally taken a seat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest. "Nicole turned and started to walk ahead. Next thing she knows, she hears hooves and Amber screaming. Nicole turns back, and a black carriage is racing back down the street. Went around a corner and disappeared."

As the machine started percolating, Chloe walked back over to the two of them. "The same black carriage that tried to trample me, and the same black carriage Olivia Coleman saw before she was taken as well." She finished their unspoken thought, walking over to the small dresser, leaning against it. Reaching up, she idly played with whatever was on top as her gaze shifted between the two of them. "Did you get anything out of the Rawlings?"

The annoyed scoff that came from Dean gave her all the answer she needed, but he chose to expand upon it. "Course not. They shut down faster than a boardwalk in hurricane season."

Sam was quiet still, deep in thought. She had a feeling they were all wondering the same sorts of questions, but they were still no closer to figuring out what was happening. "Hagyd..." Sam's little breath of a word was almost lost on Chloe and Dean.

"What was that?" Dean's question snapped Sam out of his reverie.

"Something I kept hearing in the, uh..." Sam trailed off as his gaze flicked back to Chloe. It didn't take a genius to realize that whatever secret he was keeping, it was eating at him not to share it.  _They don't trust you..._  That little bit of doubt and loss was itching at the back of her mind again, but she tried to ignore it. Sam seemed to have abandoned his thought anyway, and he shook his head. "Forget it. Never mind, it's not important."

Silence descended over the group. The coffee machine was finishing its cycle, the sound of the percolation came to a bubbling halt.

Good. Maybe if the Chloe-mobile was firing on all cylinders, she wouldn't keep missing the street signs pointing to the girls.

Pushing away from the dresser, Chloe reached up and brushed blonde stray hairs from her eyes as she went to find mugs. "Did you find anything where the girl was taken? EMF? Sulfur?" After a week of working closely with the Winchesters, she'd done what she always did: learned like the sponge she was, picking up everything she could. So far, it had been the basics of how they hunted: Ghosts gave off EMF, EVP was real, rock salt could hurt a ghost enough to make them disappear for some time, demons left sulfur -

"We didn't get any readings on the street, no." Dean pulled Chloe out of her after school review as he spoke. "No sulfur, either. I dunno what the hell this thing is, but I do know one thing, I'm gonna - "

"Kick its ass, Dean," Sam finished for him as Chloe returned juggling three coffee mugs. "I think that part is crystal clear, dude."

"Well, you know what, Sam, at least I'm talking about doing something, and not moping and whining about all the shit I can't control - "

"Okay, boys!" Chloe called over the two of them, just as Dean had stood from his spot. "Round's over, back to your corners." She shoved a cup of coffee into Sam's hand, then turned to the elder Winchester, handing him a mug with a look that said to shut up and take it. This former intrepid reporter hadn't lost her ability to read people, but she didn't even need that to see that they were testy with each other because they felt helpless. She couldn't blame them. The Watchtower had nothing to go on. Not even the Helmet to help her now. "So, okay, no supernatural findings at the site." Chloe tried to open the dialogue again, making her way back to the dresser and leaning against it. "Anything non-supernatural? Treat it like a regular abduction, a crime." The boys both looked up at her, and she smiled, taking a sip of coffee before putting the mug down on the dresser top and letting her hands rest there. "Did you look for evidence of a struggle? Maybe she could've dropped something. Heroing 101 here."

Dean was watching her with a curious expression, an eyebrow arched, almost like he didn't believe her. "Heroing, huh? You an expert or something?" Dean chuckled and shook his head, as if shaking away the thought. He reached into his pocket, pulling something free. A gleaming silver locket on a chain hung from his hand. "Well, Sidekick - " Chloe felt a momentary wave of nostalgia, a pang of guilt - " We did find this." Before Chloe could push away from the desk, Dean had put it back in his hand, looking down at it as if hoping to find something.  _Trying to impress you_... Okay, that little subconscious of hers was starting to get very annoying. "This thing's got like, some kind of crest or something on it..." Chloe tried to ignore the way his brow furrowed while he concentrated, the way those hazel eyes raked over the small object. "Sam, you think you can look this up?"

"I dunno, I can try." Sam reached out, flicking his fingers impatiently until he finally had the locket in hand. Sam scooted back on Chloe's bed, then grabbed for her laptop. A little warning bell went off in the back of her mind: he was on  _her_  bed and he was about to log into  _her_  computer.  _But, he isn't going to do anything but research..._  She told herself as Sam fell completely silent so he could start researching. "Let's see... it looks like it might be a coat of arms." Sam turned on the lamp at her nightstand so he could see better. "Looks like a dragon, maybe, surrounding the crest. Crest is three... I dunno, claws, fangs - "

"Teeth?" Chloe asked, but she already had a feeling she knew the answer. Trying to replay the last week in her head, her gaze drifted to nowhere in particular. Meeting Mrs. Coleman... "When I went to the Colemans' house last week, I noticed a locket with a crest on it. It was on their mantlepiece. It had the three teeth, the dragon..."

Chloe could hear the frown in Dean's voice, shrugging. "Okay, so, the girls both had the same locket. They were besties, or whatever, right? That's not a connection yet."

"Maybe not, but..." Sam was typing furiously on her laptop, but Chloe was still staring at that same spot in the wall, trying to help put the pieces together in her own way. Unfortunately, she didn't have much more to go on than they did. The girls were abducted, all between the ages of 6 and 14, the black carriage had been seen in at least the last two abductions, and the families were clearly too scared to talk about what happened to their children.

"Dean, look at this." Chloe heard Sam swivel the laptop on the bed, and she saw Dean move towards it out of the corner of her eye. "That's the Coat of Arms for the Bathory family." There was a pause. "That sound familiar to you?"

"Should it?"

"They were one of the most renowned royal families in Hungary for most of the Middle Ages." Sam had slipped into scholar mode as he spoke. "They rose to power in the early Middle Ages and pretty much remained that way until the 17th century." He cleared his throat. "When one of the most infamous women to ever walk the earth opened a girl's school in Hungary at her castle. She started killing them and - "

"Bathed in their blood." Dean finished, the sound of recognition plain in his voice. "Shit, yeah, I remember that story. She, um, um, the hell was her name - " Dean snapped his fingers, hoping it would come back to him.

"Erzebet Bathory." Chloe whispered, the name sliding off her tongue like a fine wine. Or an elegant poison. "She was called the Blood Countess."

"Right," Sam agreed, although he sounded a little confused. "They said Bram Stoker used her crimes as part of his inspiration to turn Vlad the Impaler into Dracula in his novel. And get this, Dean. They said when locals caught on, she had to travel out to the country, far from her castle, in her royal carriage. Which was black, and powered by the fiercest stallions in the land. Then she designed elaborate torture devices so that she could bleed them dry."

A new kind of silence fell over the room.

It was Dean who chose to break it first. "So, you're saying someone's walking around with the Bathory coat of arms on a bunch of little girls, and they're getting taken by a black carriage, and I saw one of them all cut to ribbons..." He growled. "That's no coincidence."

"This is some majorly bad ju-ju, Dean. We should call Bobby."

"Bobby's in the Dominican on that Opium Man thing, he's no help."

 _The Chosen Girl... Nabu knows..._ Chloe swallowed gently as she felt the whispers in her mind.  _He has forgotten you... but I haven't..._

"Chloe, what do you think - " Dean was saying, but his voice stopped cold. "Chloe?" There was urgency in his voice, but she didn't move, didn't tear her eyes away from that spot on the wall. "Chloe!"

"Dean, shit, look at her wrist - "

" _Chloe!_ "

Strong hands gripped at her shoulders, and her blue eyes finally blinked once, then again and again as she came out of her reverie. Before she knew what was happening, one of those strong hands had clamped around her wrist painfully, jerking her arm up over her head. "OW!" Chloe gasped.

A sudden flood of pain radiated from her wrist, and she instinctively reached up to try pulling the hand away. "Chloe, the hell did you do?" Dean had been the one to grab her, and he snatched her other hand and pinned it behind her back. "Sammy!" He shouted, presumably for help, but Chloe still didn't know why.

Before she knew it, Dean had pulled her down to sit on the bed beside him, but he kept his hand firmly wrapped around her wrist.

Her wrist...

Chloe finally looked down and felt her stomach turn as crimson liquid began to congeal between his fingers. "I'm bleeding..." She breathed, only for her voice to catch as the pain hit her again. "What just happened? Why am I bleeding?"

"Move your hand, Dean, move it," Sam was tromping around the room, but the whole thing felt rather surreal for Chloe. She was too focused on wondering what the hell had happened -

"OH, fuck me, that hurts!" Chloe yelped as two things happened: Dean moved his hand away and Sam replaced his hand with a towel soaked in alcohol. The fumes were practically making her head spin. "Oh my god, did you have to use the whole minibar?" She breathed, her voice hardly suggestive of a woman who had handled being shot in the arm with an arrow, or being tortured, or getting her ass handed to her by an Amazon. This was sharp, stabbing, disinfecting pain and she had no idea what she'd done.

"Chloe, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean growled, reaching up and turning her to face him. She winced, but he didn't seem to care. He was intently focused on her instead.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with  _you_ , you're the one who practically pulled my arm out of my socket - "

"You were spurting blood all over the room, you just gouged a vein with a ball point pen - "

"Dean... take a look at this." Sam was trying to diffuse, she could hear it in his voice.

Chloe and Dean, momentarily silenced, turned to look at Sam, who was crouched in front of Chloe. Once he knew they were paying attention, Sam pulled the towel back quickly, and Chloe felt her head spin again, her stomach acids churning even more intensely.

Chloe's wrist now had three puncture wounds... in the shape of the teeth from the Bathory Coat of Arms.

"I think we found the connection, Dean..." Sam whispered. "The Countess is coming..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos I've received so far! Please, if you like what you've read so far, leave me a kudos, or bookmark it so you can come back as I continue to update. I love to know what my readers think!


	9. Any Which Way

_Someone was screaming his name._

_CHLOE!_

_Where was she? Can't see, can't hear her anymore. So much red, so much black, it's everywhere._

_Hagyd! O az enyem!_

_O az enyem!_

_Oh, god, she won't stop screaming, why won't she stop screaming? Don't understand, can't understand, screaming too loudly._

_Haia Haia, Mica baia..._

_The red again, dripping along arms. Those blue eyes, those pretty eyes NO, CHLOE!_

_Calling for Dean, she's calling for Dean and he can't hear her and I can't help her-_

_Her blood drips into the basin._

_A hand coming out of all of that blood, stomach turning, churning, just leave Chloe alone-_

_The House of Bathory._

_The Blood Countess sees you, Sam Winchester._

"NO!" Sam's eyes snapped open as his shout pulled him out of the vision, an arm swinging out to hit the assailant from his dreams. Nothing but air shifted from the swing, but he didn't notice. He was too busy scrambling out of bed and to the bathroom as quick as possible, the images too vivid, too nauseating to handle. He barely made it to the toilet in time, before he was getting rid of possibly everything he'd ever eaten in the last week.

Groaning as he gripped the porcelain in the hopes it would steady him, he was only marginally aware of Dean calling his name. Amazing how the moment one brother was in trouble, the other was automatically alert and concerned. He couldn't really afford to pay attention to Dean, though, because his mind was still echoing with that eerie, chilling whisper.  _The Blood Countess sees you, Sam..._

"Guh..." Sam fought the urge to retch again, and instead finally dropped onto his backside, resting his shoulders against the small tub, one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee. His hair was in his eyes, but he didn't care. He couldn't get those images to go away. He had been able to practically smell all that blood, could hear the dripping as someone picked up a bowl and dipped it into the basin before pouring it over their- oh god.

He was back at the toilet again.

As he finally rode through that next bout of nausea and flushed the toilet, Dean had tromped in, switching on the light. "Sammy, you all right?" From the sound of his brother's voice, Sam could tell he was genuinely concerned. To be fair, since arriving in Delight, Sam had had the one vision, but the two of them had been seeing those little girls practically once a day. Another vision shouldn't have surprised either of them. After Chloe trying to cut the Bathory coat of arms into her wrist a week ago, the whole week had just been  _strange_ , even for Sam. And not just any strange, the kind of strange where he was genuinely starting to wonder if he and Dean were in over their heads. God, he wished Dad was still alive...

"You had another vision, didn't you." Statement, not a question. As if Dean could have missed the part where Sam had been shouting at the top of his lungs. "What'd you see? Another girl gonna get taken? C'mon, Sammy"

"Dean," Sam croaked, still sounding like he might debate another round with the porcelain god. "I didn't see anything like that, I saw..." He swallowed, waiting for his stomach to settle as he moved back to his spot against the tub. "Something else... I saw..." Sam absently reached for the towel hanging to his right, yanking it down from the towel rack. "I dunno what I saw." He finally finished, at a loss for words. Maybe it was because the taste of bile was only barely preferable from what he was sure was still the taste of blood in his mouth.

It took another five minutes before he'd managed to get to his feet and brush his teeth. All the while, Dean had simply gone back to his bed and took a seat, turning on the TV. Looked like the younger Winchester wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

Finally making his way over to the little fridge, Sam pulled a couple of beers and made it back to his own bed. He sank into the mattress, running his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake the images that were haunting him. Canned laughter of sitcom reruns on the TV seemed out of place. Popping the cap off the booze in his hand, he chugged the bitter liquid courage until he finally felt settled. Letting out a deep breath, he set the bottle on his nightstand and glanced over at his brother, looking like he was still in high school in his gray T-shirt and boxer shorts. Sam knew he had to tell him, but the entire notion of explaining that the woman his brother had quickly grown infatuated with was the next target of this insane evil force... And it was a force. They still had no idea how a countess from 16th century Hungary was related to a black carriage in Delight, Arkansas, halfway across the world. And why Chloe seemed unnerved about this, but for all the wrong reasons.

"How much do we really know about Chloe, Dean?" Sam's questions had certainly gotten his attention, as Dean immediately turned down the TV and turned to face him.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just," Sam hated sounding like  _that guy_  but it looked like it was his turn. "What do we actually know about her? Anything?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I know she's 24, she has a coffee addiction that boggles the mind," A little smile, that smile of  _Dean-would-like-to-get-laid-or-thinks-he's-going-to-get-laid_  was on his lips again. "She's also a genius with computers in a sexy secretary kind of way, she has a gun but doesn't really have a clue how to use the thing, really likes the color red," He chuckled softly, and then his smile faded. "And she's got some sort of huge colossal baggage she decided not to gate-check, but I dunno what it is."

"But she's not a Hunter..." Sam mused, sitting up and going for another chug of his drink, steadying himself as he put it back. "Dean, she's the one in the vision."

Dean had been right about to take a swig of beer, but stopped at that. Sam had his complete attention. "The one you had last week?"

"And this new one." Sam was trying to keep his own feelings in check at the moment. He liked Chloe, but he didn't know her. Not like Dean did, apparently. Sam had kept his conversations with Chloe to pretty much about the case. Then again, it was hard not to, considering Dean had all but plastered a "KEEP OFF" sign on Chloe's back while she wasn't looking. Dean was the one getting to know her, if by getting to know her, Sam was referring to watching Dean play the get-in-her-pants game. He asked details about what drinks she liked, he was always flirting... it would have been nauseating if Sam hadn't started to see the other things about Chloe that Dean was beginning to learn, too. The fact that she was way more in shape than she acted. There was healthy weight on her, but she was definitely not just some geek who didn't do anything but play on her computer. Dean had mentioned yesterday that she was from Smallville, which was only about 20 miles from Lawrence.

"What'd you see, Sammy?" Dean's question reminded him that right now, the mysteries about Chloe could wait. She needed to be safe first, then they could figure out just what brand of weird she was.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, looking up at his older brother. "She was strung up, Dean. I don't know where, I don't know how, but... someone was cutting her and bleeding her. I saw this big bathtub, the claw footed kind, y'know? And it was just filled with blood." Now that he'd begun to talk, the only way to keep his nausea at bay seemed to be continuing the description. "And someone's hand came out from under the surface, and it was just covered and I heard more of that screaming. Then suddenly, I saw this face. This ghostly white face with black holes where the eyes should have been and I heard someone say that the Countess saw me." Just reliving those few moments sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

"Wait, wait, wait..." Dean held his hand up. "You're saying your vision  _saw_  you? What, like, interacted with you?"

"I dunno, Dean, seems kind of impossible, unless Sam stopped himself. Why hadn't he already thought that? Why had he assumed it was a vision of the future?

"Chloe." They both realized.

Dean was up and had grabbed his gun from his pile of clothes on the desk table in seconds, throwing open the door. Sam was right behind him.

Of course, it was cold enough to freeze Sam's tongue to the roof of his mouth, it felt like, so if he hadn't been so worried that they were too late, he would have thought twice about this.

Dean's pounding on Chloe's motel room door echoed through the empty parking lot, but at first, there was only silence.

"Sonuvabitch,  _Chloe!_ " Dean growled, knocking again, Sam rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. The lack of response from inside the motel room was almost too much. "Answer the damn door!"

"Okay, okay, okay!" Chloe's irritated, muffled groan came from behind the door, and the two Winchesters practically deflated as tension left their bodies. After a moment, the door opened, Chloe's blonde hair mussed in a wholly distracting way.

Chloe was fine. In fact, she was better than fine. Because there were legs. Oh, there were legs. Sam's adrenaline kick to help rescue her had turned to complete distraction at the fact that all Chloe was wearing was legs-  _no_ , um, green boy shorts and a white tank top. He had no problems appreciating an attractive, smart, funny woman like Chloe, but his brother's machismo had made him quickly back off.

Kind of hard not to stare, though, considering it was literally in his face. God, that woman had some legs.

"Guys. It's 2 in the morning," Chloe reached up, brushing her fingers through her hair.  _What I wouldn't give right about now.._. Sam's sleepy and all-around manly brain couldn't help but notice. "What is it, what's going on?"

Oh, right. Shit.

The brothers exchanged glances. Oh, shit. He had not thought for two seconds about what they would say if she  _was_  here.

"Uhhh..." Sam's mouth hung open as he tried desperately to think of something. "I had... a nightmare."

Chloe's expression was a mixture of disbelief and amusement. If Dean was giving him a look, he hadn't bothered to look that way and find out. "Um... okay... I'm sorry, Sam." Chloe chuckled softly. "Did you need a glass of milk? I don't normally tuck kids in over 6'3."

"Hey," Dean smirked, and without looking, Sam knew which look that was. It was one of those lecherous, completely transparent flirtatious looks that made Sam totally ashamed to be his brother. "I'm only 6'1, I'm not jumbo here. You can tuck me in."

"Anyway, um," Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs to shut him up for the moment. "I just... I had a nightmare about you and that carriage, and, y'know, I might've freaked." A nervous smile broke over his features, realizing just how stupid that sounded even as he said it. "It's no big deal, though. Sorry. I just... clearly, you're fine. More than fine."  _Oh, holy shit, Sam, shut your mouth and stop talking now, you're doing that thing where you ramble._  "I mean, fine. But... anyway. Right. Fine."

Sam caught sight of Dean giving him a look, that jerk look that he knew way too well. That look of 'Wow, you suck.'

The silence of the two brothers throwing mental insults at each other must have finally taken its toll on Chloe, as she cleared her throat, looking from one to the other.

"So... that's it. What's next? You wanna come inside, have a slumber party, I can braid your hair?" Chloe wasn't laughing, but there was definitely a playfulness to her voice. Sam flushed some, starting to feel profoundly dumb for standing in the middle of the motel hallway at 2 AM. Over his vision. He'd profoundly screwed this up. He'd have to try again in the morning, with his brain intact. The important thing was that she was safe -

"Hey, is this the kind of slumber party with pillow fights in your green jeans here? Cause I would totally  _Oh, for fuck's sake._

Sam grabbed Dean by the collar of his T-shirt and smiled at Chloe again. "Ignore him. He's loopy. We're loopy. We're going. Goodnight, Chloe." Without waiting for a response, Sam pulled his completely moronic, testosterone-driven brother back into their own motel room, despite Dean's protests.

After enduring a few more minutes of Dean griping about being cockblocked, Sam had finally settled back into his bed. He'd grabbed a notepad, jotting down the details of the vision, but knew that he'd have to find something better to do with his time for the next four hours until dawn.

By 8 AM, Sam had had what he'd considered a breakthrough. It had taken the last six hours, but Sam had spent it typing on his laptop while Dean slept soundly.

There wasn't a whole lot Sam knew about this case, but he did know one thing: two of the girls had possessed lockets with the Bathory Coat of Arms. And that vision definitely had the Countess. So, it stood to reason that he was missing something big. The connection.

After six hours of reading up on the Countess and her exploits, Sam was chilled. The lore of Bathory had rippled through history, the terrifying imagery of girls being cut, stabbed or crushed for the pursuit of her bloodlust as iconic as it was inhumane. If somehow, some way, the girls were being abducted and it was related to this Countess... they were dead. They'd have to be. Sam couldn't find any reason to think that they wouldn't be.

But what was doing this? Was the carriage somehow brought here for the purposes of blindly abducting girls, carrying on the work of its long-dead mistress? Or was it worse? Was the myth of the Countess somehow even more explicitly connected?

There was no immediate connection that Sam could see. He wasn't firing on all cylinders, though, and even after a brewed cup of coffee at 5 AM, he had been stumped.

Finally, around 7, he'd remembered that his visions had some sort of words being spoken. An hour later, and a great deal of trial and error, and Sam had it.

"Hagyd." He muttered to himself as he read the translation. "Leave." Okay, that seemed basic enough. In fact, just figuring out that it was Hungarian had made this feel like a cheap shot. "O az anyem." Sam recited to himself as he typed it in, waiting for the translation. His brow furrowed. "She is mine."

That wasn't good.

The radio beside Sam clicked on, blasting Don't Stop Believing by Journey, and his concentration was completely shot. Dean sat up in bed, immediately alert.

Okay, quiet hours were over, as Dean Winchester had Journey and had already begun to mouth lyrics as he got up and headed for the bathroom.

At least it wasn't Asia.

Sam must've drifted off into his own moebius loop of thought, because before he knew it, Dean was attempting to croon and  _failing_  to Wheel In the Sky with his toothbrush in his mouth, and someone was knocking on the door. Wild guess? Legs-  _no, Sam, stop it._

"Dean, shut up!" Sam called as he shifted the laptop off his lap and onto the bed.

"You wuv it, Thammy!" Dean called back, toothbrush still in tow, just as the music began to change.

Sam stood and crossed the length of the room in a few easy strides before opening the door.

Yup, definitely Chloe.  _Oh, hey, good job, genius, you are thinking with your upstairs brain. Way to not act like Dean._  This was so not okay, and Sam knew it. God, that vision must have messed him up more than he thought. Chloe was sweet and perky and a cute blonde and all, but this was a case. Regardless of how much he'd spoken to her in the last two weeks, he didn't know her well enough to moon over her. No, that was definitely his brother's territory.

"Hey, Sam," Chloe breathed, her voice all business, her expression to match. She brushed right past him in her black pants, maroon top and black leather jacket. "Where's Dean?" She asked, turning back to face him.

"Oh, uh Sam glanced back at the bathroom, hands in his pockets, just as Dean's voice rang out:

"THOMEDAY, WUV WILL FIND LOO! BWEAK DOSE CHAINS DAT BIH WOO-"

Sam's eyebrows shot up and he sucked at his teeth a little to stop himself from laughing. Well, if Dean ever hoped to impress Chloe now, it was pretty safe to say he'd given himself a helluva handicap. He was sure Chloe wasn't amused...

She was smiling. Really smiling.

Chloe had turned and was listening to Dean belt like the Aflac duck, and the business-like veneer she always had around them had totally crumbled. Sam and Dean both knew that Chloe had walls up that were made of steel and cement, guarded by razor wire. She'd mentioned she didn't exist... she was right. Chloe Sullivan didn't exist digitally, but she was clearly standing there talking to them. And she'd freely admitted that she'd had to delete her own identity. Just because she was finding a couple of people with powers and steering them in the right direction? No, she was  _hiding_  something.

But right now, all Sam could see was that for a few seconds, his stupid doofus of a brother had made her smile.

Maybe those walls were slowly coming down. Maybe she'd open up. Then... then maybe he'd tell her about the visions.

"Um..." Chloe's smile began to fade as she bit her bottom lip gently, turning to face Sam once more. "As much as I hate to cancel amateur hour here, there was another abduction, just this morning." Chloe was back to her more focused expression, and it was then that Sam noticed the notebook in her hands. "If we leave now, we might actually be able to talk to these parents before whatever scared the Colemans and Rawlings scares them. If you two aren't too busy, I'd appreciate the back-up."

"Back-up?" Dean came swaggering out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with a towel, acting like he hadn't just been singing at the top of his lungs. Sam smirked some, and Dean's mental STFU could be felt across the room. "What're you gonna do, go break into a government facility or some shit?"

Chloe smiled, but her expression seemed to flicker with something else, something more serious. It was just for a moment, though, and as soon as Sam saw it, it seemed to be gone again. "Maybe later."

Dean chuckled and shot his brother a look of 'I like her, she's our kind of crazy.'

"Well, then," Sam smiled. "What're we waiting for?"

Dean and Chloe exchanged looks, and not for the first time in the last two weeks, Sam felt like he was suddenly not in on a joke. He gave the two of them expectant looks, hoping one of them would enlighten him as to why they were smirking.

Naturally, it was Chloe who spoke up. "Pants?"

It took Sam a second to realize what she was referring to. He glanced down. Oh, that's right. He was still in his boxers. The shade of red on Sam's face probably matched a shiny apple at the moment. "Oh... Right." He smiled, grabbing his jeans off the floor next to his bed and disappearing into the bathroom to change.

The trio hurried to the residence of the newest abductee, piled into the Impala. Sam, naturally, was not going to get to drive, as Dean was in Muy-Impresionante-Mas-Macho mode, or whatever he wanted to call it these days. Chloe was settled in the back, and surprising to no one, that girl buried herself into her laptop again. What she was researching, she didn't share.

At half past 8, they pulled up outside the Viera household, where Kelly Viera had one missing only an hour ago. While Sam hadn't asked Chloe how she'd found out about the abduction so quickly, he had a pretty good idea that he and Dean weren't the only ones with a police scanner on standby.

"Kelly is twelve. She lives with her parents here, goes to school only two blocks away, so she walks. She passed the gas station around the corner, and that was the last time anyone saw her. Cops found a locket with-"

Dean piped up as he stepped out of the car. "Three teeth and a dragon?"

Chloe smiled as she climbed out of the backseat and adjusted her jacket. "You got it. The gas station attendant did tell the cops that he heard something like horses and wheels go past the station around the same time he saw the girl."

Sam's gaze was busy scoping out the house while he heard Dean beside him, "So like a carriage."

"Like a carriage," Chloe confirmed just as the three of them stepped up to the front door. She glanced from one brother to the other, then cleared her throat. "Y'know, guys, I know I said I needed back up, but this is a little too Men in Black for me." Chloe gently reached out, pushing them both back a few steps with a hand on each arm. Obediently, the Winchesters shuffled back a bit before Chloe turned and knocked on the door.

No response, at least, not from the front door. As Sam and Dean stood back away from the porch, Chloe knocked once more.

Sam caught a glance of something moving out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to look at the living room window. Someone was staring through the curtains. "They're home..." Sam pointed out the window to Dean, who scowled.

"Aw, man, I hate this shit. How the hell're we supposed to help these people if they don't want it?"

"Dean, c'mon," Chloe chastised, having turned to look at them with a hand propped on her hip. "They're scared, that's all."

Through some sort of serendipitous luck, Chloe's words must have reached the family on the other side of the door. The latch clicked, and the blonde pivoted on her heels to face the sound as the door barely cracked open.

"We can't talk to you," The trembling tones of a woman, most likely Kelly's mother, said loud enough to carry to Sam and Dean. "Look, I know you want to help, but we were warned. We can't talk to you!" For some reason, Chloe remained still at the porch, she wasn't trying to open the door further.

Taking a few steps closer, Sam paused on the first step of the porch, realizing that a small gold chain straddled the gap between door and frame. That was feeble, false protection from any of them. The only thing stopping them was that they had absolutely no desire to break into someone's house. But, they weren't the bad guys. Sam just wished these folks could see that.

"Look, we're just trying to find your children, like your daughter." Chloe reasoned, her voice crisp, clean, and kind. "Who warned you to stay away from us?"

"They all warned us! Look, you have to go, go now! She already took our daughter, and she'll come for us, too!"

"You sons of bitches," Dean growled beside Sam, unafraid to say what Sam was merely thinking.

"Dean Sam furrowed his brow, worried, trying to catch his brother before he tromped up to the door. He caught a bit of leather sleeve, but Dean shrugged him off and stepped up there.

"What the hell has you so scared that you're more worried about yourselves than your daughter? The hell is up with this town, huh?"

"God forgive me, but She is coming. You have to go, please," The woman had begun to sob, but that wasn't what bothered Sam. A cold, iron weight had settled into his stomach. The temperature outside had suddenly dropped to freezing, his breath beginning turn to mist.

"Guys..." His voice had vanished on him. Sam cleared his throat, then tried again, louder. "Guys, something's up..."

"She's here! You have to go!" The door slammed shut and locked in an instant, just as Chloe and Dean turned their attention to Sam. At least, he thought they were looking at him.

They weren't.

"Sam..." Dean's eyes were wide, he was frozen in his spot. "Don't look now, but you've got one ugly ass bitch staring you down."

Naturally, he did what any sane individual would do. He turned around.

The onyx carriage was casually stopped on the other side of the street, stallions pawing at the asphalt impatiently. But, that didn't have Sam's attention. She did.

Jet black hair billowed in the wind, unkempt and shining, a stark contrast to the ashen, pale face that once was beautiful, and now had decayed, cracked flesh and ghostly eyes. Tall, thin, and radiating a darkness that Sam couldn't remember quite ever seeing before. It wasn't like a demon, like Meg. This was... something different. This was some sort of darkness that was new for him. The dark woman with the pale visage was draped in red cloth that billowed around her body. Sam recognized the style from art history. Renaissance clothing of flowing skirts, a black bodice and an open chest showing the decaying flesh. Then, to top it all off, a high collar climbed up her neck and wrapped against the pale flesh like a noose. Equally pale hands with skeletal fingers rested in front of her, clutching a blood red pincushion.

"It's her..." He heard Chloe breathe beside him. Sam's gaze remained locked on the Countess. She wasn't looking at  _Sam_...

Sam turned, following the woman's cold glare, and saw the way Chloe's face had paled. "Dean..." He muttered. "Dean, it wasn't me, it's Chloe she's looking at..."

_Haia haia, mica baia, lululica, fata mica..._

Sam's body went taut at the haunting melody, a chill running up his spine as he whirled to face the carriage again.

She was gone.

The others must have noticed as well, as the three of them were now staring at the empty street, and the temperature had suddenly risen back to normal.

"Okay..." Dean was the first to speak, his shoulders finally falling as he shook them out. " _Definitely_  buckets of fucknuts crazy here. That was"

"That was Bathory, Dean." Sam turned to look at his brother. "She's real. And she's definitely here."


	10. Bricks In the Wall

Dean couldn't sleep.

Normally, he was the kind of guy that could sleep standing up, on command. Especially after a good, solid bout of hustling and doing shots. This was fucking ridiculous. Instead of sweetly dreaming about playing his favorite indoor game with a couple of hotter-than-hot blonde supermodels - or in the last couple of weeks, a particular blonde non-supermodel in decidedly less clothing than she normally wore - he was laying in bed staring at the ceiling fan. Sam had actually fallen asleep before him! Sam, his overly emo-Simon-and-Garfunkel-vision-having-constantly-whiny brother was asleep - and peacefully. But not Dean. Nope. He was busy thinking about the job.

At least, that's what he was telling himself.

Truth was, he was breaking his own damn rule right now. And it was one of his bigger ones, too.

 _One_  case at a time. Don't think about more than one job, don't think about anything but the job you were working at that moment. Unfortunately for Dean, he was too busy thinking about everything involving Chloe, the Countess, and his brother.

Thing number one: His brother's visions had gotten even worse since last week when the group of them had actually seen the supernatural-zombie-bitch. They hadn't actually seen the Countess again, but, y'know, that was enough ugly to last a lifetime. There hadn't been really any other break in this particular case, either. Sam's dreams didn't seem to have a damn thing to do with the demon, just this Countess chick, and now she'd taken another girl. That brought the total count to 10.

That brought him to thing number two: his visions of the dead girls had struck too close to home for his liking. After searching through every supernatural text they had, trying to pin down what the Countess was, or how any of this was happening, Dean could barely walk down the street now without being confronted by one of those sad, haunting faces. Like Olivia Coleman's face. Dean's brow furrowed, he swallowed thickly. That poor kid. He'd failed her. He promised her mother he'd get her home. But she was covered in cuts and open wounds, her face pale and ashen. When she'd moved towards him, she'd seemed broken, as though her bones had become putty and failed her. He was supposed to help her. Some fuckin' hero.

That was thing three: Chloe. The one who kept calling him a hero for some inexplicable fucking reason. Chloe had been hella distracted. No, not distracted. Downright  _strange._  Just yesterday morning, he and Sam caught her running a pair of scissors across her thigh. Normally, he woulda figured she was buckets of crazy and would have taken care of business, but he knew this wasn't Chloe, this had to be related to that Countess bullshit. First, it was the coat of arms on her wrist from a couple weeks back, and now she was trying to just... make herself bleed. Dean wasn't a dumbass, he knew that if the Countess liked to bathe in pretty girls' blood, then she had to be messing with Chloe's head. But  _why?_  And how long would they be waiting to find out?

Which brought him to thing number four: Chloe herself. She was a mystery. At first, it had been just easy to flirt and, y'know, she was  _smokin'_ , and holy shit he wanted to do so many things to that girl, but, he kinda felt like an ass for thinking all that. She didn't make it easy, though! Every time she shot him one of those little 'I'm not thrilled' looks, he could see the twinkle in her eyes. He'd see that little smile on her face when he did something naturally witty and charismatic. He was winning her over. His charm was hot shit. And she wasn't just like some chick he met while on a job. He hadn't had to lie to her, he'd just chatted with her about the case and some mutual interests. Her appreciation of classic rock had certainly made him give pause. Any chick who appreciated his music, was hot, and wasn't creeped out by the Job was a chick he wanted to seriously get to know. Especially since it felt like she  _enjoyed_  the Hunting. He had to protect her from this.

And... this felt like Cassie all over again. Except worse.

At least with Cassie, it had started out normal, he'd liked her, he'd let her in even when he tried not to. But, the job. It was always the job. That's why he didn't let that happen anymore. Especially not now. He couldn't afford to, knowing he would be leaving and constantly travelling. Chloe was different. Maybe if all this Countess shit worked out...

 _Fuck it, Dean. You don't do long-term, and you don't do the whole sticking around after a job just for tail thing._ Dean knew that as much as he loved to say that his brother's gay was rubbing off on him... in the dark, all alone, with no one to have to deny anything to except himself...

He knew he was lonely. He knew that he wished he had someone other than Sam that he could share his life with, batshit crazy ghosts, demons and all. Hell, in a perfect world, he'd be able to...  _no._  No use even thinking about that shit. His life was on the road, he was a Hunter, he had  _nothing_  else, and that was the way it was always going to be. Dad had made sure of it. And besides, he had to look out for Sammy. That was always gonna be more -

The sound of a door opening outside caught Dean's attention. In the yellow light of the hallway, a shadow fell across the window. Sitting up, he swung his muscular legs over the edge of the bed, trying to get a better look at what was happening outside. Given everything that had been going on in this town, he figured he was understandably on edge.

Dragging a hand across his eyes, Dean forced himself to stand. Glancing through the window again, he caught sight of flimsy fabric blowing in the wind, but he couldn't see anything else. Okay... he didn't know what that was, but he was hoping it wasn't one of those girls again. He was having a hard enough time helping Sammy through his own visions, he didn't know if he could handle anymore ghosts following him. He had plenty of his own guilt to go around.

He pulled on a pair of jeans real quick and grabbed his olive fatigue button down, throwing it on as he grabbed his sawed off. Ever since they'd started having ghostly visitors every day, they'd kept everything salted and his gun filled with his rock salt ammo. Could never be too sure.

Silently opening the door - no need to wake Sleeping Beauty if he didn't have to - Dean stepped over the line of salt and out into the cold night air. Shutting the door silently behind him, he steeled himself and turned to his left, expecting to see a ghostly apparition, the source of the shadow across his window.

Gun poised, ready to fire, Dean's gaze rested upon the dark fabric blowing in the wind. Except, it wasn't a ghost.

It was Chloe.

The rifle lowered in Dean's hands as his brain tried to process what was before him.

For a second, he honestly thought he was dreaming. Because so far, of the things he knew about Chloe, he didn't think her balance was  _that_  good.

Draped in the sheet from her bed, the lithe, petite blonde was standing precariously on the actual railing to the motel hallway. From what Dean could tell in the faint light, the rough fern green material was only remaining in place by sheer force of the breeze and by very serendipitous wrapping. It wasn't tucked anywhere, it was almost like she'd grown tangled in it while she slept. Her arms were bare, stretched out at her sides, as if it was somehow helping her balance. Her shoulders were also naked, and in the faint glow from the light behind them, he could see faint scars along the backs of those very nice arms and shoulders. He found himself wondering absently how she'd gotten those scars.

Of course, it was only one of the thoughts running through his head, and certainly not the most important. For one thing, she was standing. On the railing. That was a twenty foot drop, and she was just... standing on the thin, cold metal, facing the drop. His pulse quickened, stomach clenching in fear.

Also, she was singing.

At first, Dean hadn't realized. He was just focused on the visual aspect of watching her using a level of superhuman balance that he knew she didn't have. He'd seen her bump into enough doors on the occasion to know.

"Haia haia..." Chloe's voice was soft, barely there, almost lost in the breeze. "Mica baia... cuculica, fata mica..."

The hell was that? Wasn't English, that was for sure. Sam had said the Countess spoke Hungarian in his visions. Maybe it was that? Definitely hitting on the supernatural scale for him. Had to be the Countess, right? Chloe was standing 20 feet above concrete in nothing but a sheet and everything God gave her. Yeah... not good. Definitely the Countess.

As she kept singing softly, he crouched down with feline grace and silently put his sawed off on the ground. Last thing he wanted to do was spook her. Nothing in his hands, he tried to think fast. He needed her off that ledge somehow.

"Douazasi si unu…" Chloe's voice carried eerily over the wind, her fingers twitching, almost as if to keep time. "Da-mi si mie…" Dean took a silent step towards her, trying to stay out of her line of sight as he approached. "Unu…" Her voice drifted and whined downward, like a sled down a sloping hill of chilling snow.

She'd gone silent for a moment. Dean gulped, trying to ignore the way the wind seemed to make the shivers down his spine even worse. As he finally reached her, his hand slowly made its way up to her hip. He didn't touch her. He didn't want to frighten her.

"Lululica, cuculica…" Chloe started up again, making Dean jump in his skin and hold his breath.  _Don't fuck it up, Dean. Don't fuckin' scare her, because then she's street pizza._  Okay. His own thoughts weren't helping at this point. Fuckin' focus on saving her. Trust that instinct he knew had gotten him and Sammy out of plenty of jams before. "Haia mica, fata mica…" Chloe crooned softly, still as a sculpture. "Hai, hai, hai, hai…"

Dean couldn't bear to let his breath escape him as he finally stole a glance from her side. He tried to keep his gaze away from the plummet below, and instead, focused on figuring out the best way to talk to her. A part of his brain said,  _Just say her name, dumbass_ , but he'd seen way too many horror films to think  _that_ was gonna be the best option.

"Hai, hai, mos Mihai..."

Her eyes were closed.

Dean blinked, brow furrowing, his heart stuck somewhere between his Adam's apple and his esophagus. Okay, hold up. Two seconds. The girl was singing… balancing on a railing… and her eyes were closed. No, not just closed, fluttering.  _She's asleep._  This was so far off-course from normal.

Without thinking, floored by the realization, he let a breath out. "Sonuvabitch…" The moment his own voice reached his ears, though, he expected her to jump.

She did.

Chloe's gasp was followed by her eyes snapping open, searching the darkness in complete disorientation. She teetered as the unnatural balance she'd had suddenly left her. On instinct, Dean reached out, wrapping his arms around her waist and hauling her right off the railing roughly but decisively.

Dean hadn't expected such a small thing to weigh quite as much as she did, and the sudden weight of pulling her to him forced him to backpedal until he bumped into the wall behind them, arms still firmly around her in the darkness.

"What… I…" Chloe sounded lost; her body began to shiver violently with the cold. Okay, so, she was awake, he was guessing? Chloe looked down, presumably at his hands, one of which rested on her stomach, and the other was sort of on her chest –  _not intentionally._  The guy was busy tryin' not to let her kill herself; the downstairs brain was bound to act up on the occasion!

"What am I doing out here?" Chloe's voice was adorably drowsy. Okay, maybe it was just that Dean's heart was still pounding in his ribcage and tensions were high. That had to be it.  _Focus_ , _Dean, Blondie's hands are going somewhere_. She was grabbing at his wrists now, weakly, as if she wasn't really sure what they were doing there. "Wait..." Chloe went from sounding drowsy to immediately alert, albeit even more confused. "Where are my clothes?"

"Uhhh – " Oh no, brain stalled.  _Think fast, Winchester!_  "This is totally not what it looks like."  _What… the fuck was that mouth fail?_

"What the - I don't - " Chloe squirmed in his arms as she tried to pull away, but having just saved her life, Dean wasn't about to let her do that. At least, that was what he was telling himself. Damn problem with being so used to this supernatural, risk-taking bullshit: his downstairs brain had way too much time to think while he was in the middle of a crisis.

Of course, that didn't matter after an elbow suddenly connected with his solar plexus, and Dean's grip immediately became that of a couple of limp noodles. With a strangled groan, Dean doubled over as Chloe slipped away from him. Oh, that was pain. That hurt, that had been sharp Blondie elbow bone in the middle of his stomach. Not okay.

" _Dean?_ " The hell! Blondie sounded like she was surprised to see him or something. "What am I doing out here? What're  _you_  doing out here?" Dean struggled to look up at her through misted over eyes as he tried to get air back in his body. Dragging a deep breath through his lungs, he finally stood upright again as she kept babbling. "Where are my clothes? Why am I in a sheet? How did I even get out here?" Chloe went abruptly silent. Terror and realization blossomed over her features as Dean blinked the last watering of his eyes away.  _Okay, news flash, Winchester. When she does that, your stomach does that thing where it twists up in knots like the world is ending. Don't ever let her look at you like that again._

"Okay, just, slow down, Blondie." Dean breathed, taking a cautious step closer to her, hands outstretched in a gesture to keep her calm. "Chloe, just, take a second and breathe, okay? Believe me, I'm just as confused as you are."

Chloe was a bit like a deer in headlights now. He had expected her to clock him, or do that weird 'I know Kung-Fu' thing she had done weeks ago. Instead, she had grabbed for the sheet around her body and held it closer. A fear had gripped her unlike anything he'd ever seen.

"Oh my god, what did she make me do?" Okay, so as if the stomach clenching wasn't bad enough, now Dean's heart twisted at the tiny little whimper that escaped Chloe's lips.

"Okay, c'mon, let's get you inside." Dean took another step closer, gently taking hold of her wrist. Without even thinking, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. "C'mon, you're cold, it's fucking freezing out here, we'll figure it out inside."

The only response he received was Chloe's fingers clutching weakly to his shirt.

Five minutes later, the heat had been cranked up in her motel room, and Dean set one of the two water glasses she had in her room down in front of her. She was seated at her desk, in pajama pants and a tank top, the sheet discarded on the floor in the corner, as though it was her enemy, not the Countess. Dean unscrewed the cap off of a fifth of vodka from the minibar fridge he'd pulled, and poured the whole thing into the glass in front of her.

"Okay, so I know you probably are used to the girly, fruity drinks," He was saying as he tried to make light of her situation, hoping to cheer her up. "But, this'll make you - "

Chloe took the glass in hand and downed it without a word, draining it before replacing it back on the desk in front of her.  _Fuck, I could fall in love with this chick._  Woah, what? No,  _focus_.

"I stand corrected." Dean said with a wry smile. "You need another one there, Legs?"

Chloe glanced up at him; a little color had returned to her face. No smile, though. Not that he could blame her. If someone was fucking around playing Puppetmaster in his head, he'd be pissed off, too. "No, I'm good, thanks." She pushed the glass away, giving it a look that Dean couldn't read to save his life.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean rested against the edge of the desk, looking down at her. Her blonde hair was still disheveled from the wind, and in just that tank top and pants outfit, he could see all those scars now. Chloe clearly wasn't just some woman who liked to play at superspy/Hunter and happened to get a few nicks and cuts. These were... bad. These were the kinds of scars that people didn't just get up and walk away from. She was so locked up, though. How the hell was he supposed to get to know her, to even help her with this bullshit, if she didn't talk?

Well, only one way to get her to do that.

"So, outside. You said you didn't know what she made you do." Dean began, watching Chloe's body language. The way her shoulders slumped and her fingers caressed the almost-healed bumps on her wrist where the scar of Bathory would always remain told him what he needed to know. "You think the Countess was controlling you?"

For a long moment, Chloe said nothing, simply caressing her wrist again. Maybe she wasn't going to talk, no matter what he said. He'd tried flirty the last few weeks, that hadn't worked. Now he was trying nice. If that didn't work, he couldn't just try to bully it out of her. "I don't think, Dean..." Chloe looked up at him, brushing an errant lock of hair free from those distracting gray eyes. "I know. She was. She is."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in concern and confusion. "Come again?"

Chloe sighed and looked away, standing so she could, he presumed, pace aimlessly in the center of the room. And she did. Bingo. Felt like a hollow victory in his game of how-well-Dean-knows-Chloe. "I didn't notice it at first. I thought maybe I was just feeling... a little lost. Maybe the pressure of being away from Metropolis and Clark and Lois and Oliver, it was all just getting to me. It felt really odd, I don't normally let my emotions get to me, but I tried to just ignore it." Dean didn't speak as the admission began to flow freely. Granted, he didn't have a clue who Clark and Oliver were, but he had a vague notion that Lois could've been Lois Lane, the alias she used. "Then, we had the incident with me gouging the coat of arms into my own wrist. I knew something was wrong, I did, I just..." He frowned as she hugged herself, but didn't make a move towards her, as much as he wanted to. Something about her, he just really wanted to protect her. He didn't like knowing that they were in the middle of this hellhole and he felt... helpless at the moment. "I tried to ignore it. Then came the scissors, the pins, the knife at the diner, you remember that." She turned to look at him, and Dean's breath caught in his throat. Fuck, he hated seeing girls cry. He  _really_  hated that. "I didn't want to tell you or Sam, because I didn't know if it was Countess or... or something else." The notion of there being a 'something else' that Chloe feared as much as the Countess seriously worried him. "I don't..." Chloe bit her bottom lip as tears spilled over her cheeks silently. "I don't remember how I got back to the room this evening. Or getting out there." Chloe shut her eyes and Dean swallowed thickly. "I just heard this singing and it all seemed to... blur together."

Dean didn't think he could handle any more of this, of her being so vulnerable and just brushing up against that spot in his heart he reserved for damsels in distress. Goddammit.

Thankfully (or unfortunately), before Dean could act on that impulse, Chloe seemed to have collected herself again. Blondie brushed the tears away and sniffed, making her way over to the bed and taking a seat. "I think it's pretty clear that even if she's after the other girls here, she really wants to scare me. I keep seeing her. In mirrors. Almost like she's right behind me." A little chuckle escaped her lips as Dean grabbed the desk chair and flipped it around so he could straddle it and be on the same level as her. "If I thought this might be something scientific, I'd say it was an induced hallucination. There's a scientist in Gotham, Jervis Tetch, does some really crazy stuff with subwave - or maybe Dr. Crane, he's pioneering some sort of research into things that trigger phobias and fears..." She trailed off, glancing up at him. "What?"

"What?" Dean repeated, although his was more of a genuine sense of confusion. He hadn't realized he was doing anything of note. Aside, of course, from being himself. He was just sitting there resting his arms on the back of the chair, his chin happily perched on the back of his hand.

"You're staring. I... go off into Professor mode occasionally." Chloe smiled a different smile, one that he'd never seen before. It was different. Intimate, almost like she reserved it for a select few. Suddenly, Dean really want to know who else had gotten to see that smile, and if he needed to punch any of them in the face. "Sorry. It's easy to get lost in my own little digital encyclopedia of minutae."

"Don't apologize, baby, I could hear you read the phone book and be happy." Dean replied with a semi-sleepy grin.

Of course, if he'd realized what he'd said, he probably would've kicked himself and attempted to correct the fumble. Dean knew that flirting with Chloe was always an odd mix of good and awkward moments, and here he was, accidentally doing it while she was upset.

For a split second, Dean considered apologizing for the monumentally inappropriate and, well, surprising statement for him, too. But, then he saw the way she went pink, cheeks flushed as a shy smiled graced her features. He couldn't see it, but he could feel his own ears go a little pink, and he cleared his throat, shifting in the seat. He hadn't even been trying to flirt with her; it had just slipped out subconsciously! And here she was, acting like a school girl who'd never had a compliment in her life.

Of course, now he was just thinking of what he'd said and how it was a little  _too_ … well, somethin'.

"So…" Dean cleared his throat, changing the subject to the relief of both of them. "That Isis Foundation you said you had back in Metropolis. Is that why you're acting like the crazy ghost bitch trying to kill you falls between your coffee break and English muffin?" Dean absently scratched at forming stubble on his jaw as he spoke, glad to see her relax again.

"Actually," A smile finally did grace her features as she drew her legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed. "Growing up in Smallville, Kansas did. You know, the meteor shower? Let's just say that before the Isis Foundation, there was a curious high school reporter who made it her job to investigate all of the weird happenings."

"So, you're attracted to bizarre, weird things." Dean mused with a flirty wiggle of his eyebrows. Damn, must've been the lack of sleep. Oh, and the whole rescuing her from jumping off the railing thing was giving him a wicked adrenaline rush. Naturally, the Dean Winchester that was talking was going to be the one who really didn't have a filter. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he heard Sammy's voice telling him he didn't  _have_  a filter.

"Must be why I keep you around," Chloe mused, and Dean nearly swallowed his own tongue. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, an awkward silence falling over the room. He'd heard that right. Right? He'd heard that right, she'd totally just said she was attracted to him. In a… roundabout, completely Dean sort of way.  _Awesome!_

"Well, tell ya what, Professor, I promise to keep being my naturally, witty, charming, bizarre and rescuing-your-ass self as long as you promise not to hold it against me. And you start coming clean about your own weirdness. You got more Scars than Michael Biehn in Terminator." She'd opened that door, he may as well walk through it.

"Why are you so curious about me, Dean?" Oh look, there was that door he was trying to walk through. Closing in his face. Really? Aw, c'mon – "I'm just some woman you've met on a case. I'll be gone when this is over. You don't need to know anything else."

Dean frowned, his heart sinking even as he tried to ignore it. So much for that whole winning her over thing. He was really starting to get tired of this, seriously. He would chase 'em with the best of 'em, but at some point, Dean knew when he wasn't wanted. "Call me crazy, but I like people who do what I do and don't run from it. But, y'know, you wanna stay locked down, that's cool." He stood, flipping the chair around and putting it back. "I've been trying to get to know you for weeks now, Chlo, but I think it's time I stopped bashing my head against the wall that is you." The more he spoke, the more his mood soured, and now he was pretty sure the best thing to do would be to go back to bed, focus on the job, and get the hell out of this town as fast as humanly possible –

"Dean, stop."

Wow. Dean's feet froze. That didn't sound like the ever-unbreakable Chloe Sullivan. It definitely sounded more like the scared woman he'd seen outside. Fucking heartstrings and that woman's tugging on them. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she did it on purpose.

"I'm sorry."

He slowly turned.

Chloe had risen from the bed and stood before him, a hand absently playing with the hem of her tank top nervously. The expression on her face was again, vulnerable, one of those looks that Dean told himself he  _didn't_  want to see on her face.

"Please. You don't have to go. I just… look, I…" Chloe bit her lip, her eyes finding interest in everything in the room except for him. "I keep secrets. I know I wasn't terribly specific about it, but that is the truth of it. You don't do what I did with the Isis Foundation under the notion of full disclosure for everyone."

Dean frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not asking for full disclosure about the metas you meet. I'm not even asking for full disclosure. I'm asking about  _you_."

"Dean, we're like two ships passing in the night. We're both going our separate ways after this." Dean tried to ignore the way that stabbed at his heart.

"It doesn't have to be like that." He could not believe he just said that aloud.  _Not smooth, Winchester. That totally was gonna sound way better in your head._ "I mean… what, you think I don't want friends? You think I just want to be part of the Dynamic Duo that is me and Sammy? You know how rare it is to meet other Hunters? Hell, other  _people_  who don't freak out over this kind of shit?" Now that the train had started running down the track, Dean was having a hard time stopping it. "Chloe, you like the same music as me, you know almost as much about horror movies as I do, you have got some wicked tech-fu, and on top of that, none of this shit scares you. So, no offense, I'm trusting you to help us with saving this town from the fucked up Countess, and you can't even trust me as to where all those scars of yours come from." Dean caught himself before he let anything else come out of his mouth, the anger and frustration lacing his voice impossible for him to control at this point. He just needed to shut up before he wound up really saying something he'd regret.

"My scars aren't any of your business, Dean." Chloe snapped back, the edge in her voice reminding him that even if she didn't know how to use that gun she had, she  _did_  have some serious training in how to defend herself and wasn't a wilting flower.  _Not always a damsel in distress, Winchester._ "Look, just because you're made of flirtation doesn't mean that I'm just going to cave to every request you have – "

"Woah, woah, woah, hold up, hold the fucking phone!" He rose his hands, officially a mix of confused and pissed the hell off. "So, what? You're pretty and I tell you that so suddenly I'm a meathead who shouldn't want to get to know you? Contrary to popular belief, I  _do_  want friends. But, hey, that's cool, sister, I don't need friends  _this_  badly – " Fuck it, he needed out of here.

"Nonono, look, that's not what I meant, I didn't mean that." Dean stopped as Chloe grabbed his wrist, a jolt running through him that immediately seemed to charge the air and calm them both. Brow furrowed, he tried to process what the hell he'd just felt, and he absently glanced from Chloe's hand on his wrist, then up to her eyes. She looked just as confused as he was. Still silent, Chloe let go of his wrist, clearing her throat. "Dean… can we… start over?" Her gaze was still locked on his, and Dean quickly felt his resolve waver and collapse. Why the  _fuck_  was he still sitting here? This could not be a good idea. "I… This whole thing with the Countess, it really seems to mess with me." He didn't speak, but she apparently took his silence as permission. He half-expected her to flee like, completely across the room, since  _apparently_  his "flirtations" were the bane of his existence.

Thankfully, she settled for just walking over to the mini-fridge. She pulled a few more fifths and opened them, pouring a couple shots of Jack Daniels. Dean tried to ignore how much her body language had changed again. In just an hour, she'd gone from vulnerable and wraith-like to this more locked down, almost military persona. He'd never seen anyone quite like her, and it was driving him insane. Seriously? He'd been pissed at her two seconds ago and now he was fucking _curious_  again?  _Sonuvabitch!_

"There is a lot I simply  _can't_  tell you. And it's not because I think any less of you, or because I don't trust you, but it's because the secrets I've kept are secrets that I can't divulge for anything. Or anyone." Chloe walked over, handing him the other glass of booze, and he gladly went to down the thing. "My best friend growing up is the Blur."

Ow. Okay, if there was one thing that was more painful coming up than it was going down, it was whiskey, and he'd just choked it and coughed it right up his nose. Dean barely managed to clamp his hand over his mouth so he didn't spit it all over her, but his eyes had practically bugged right the hell out of his eye sockets, and a million questions raced through his head. Okay, well, more like two or three, but they were some big fuckin' questions. "Can you repeat that?" He finally managed to croak, clearing his throat as he wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand.

The smile Chloe answered him with was just downright cat-who-got-the-canary. "The Blur is my best friend. Well…  _was_ , I guess, is more appropriate, since I haven't spoken to him in months. Keeping that secret has made me very valuable to people who don't like superheroes." Still smiling, she took a swig of her own glass and turned away so she could pace the room. "Let's just say that my experiences with meteor freaks in Smallville paled in comparison to what I've seen in the last nine years of my life. I've seen magic, I've seen aliens, but more importantly, I've seen what people do to their heroes. They build them up, then they tear them down. And when the government gets involved," Chloe turned to face him, her brow furrowed, jaw set. "You get things like the VRA."

"That's that funky bill in Congress that wants the vigilantes to register their IDs, right?" Dean's voice sounded even more like gravel on blacktop than normal, now that it was harsh from coughing up liquor.

"It'll do more than that, Dean." Chloe finished her drink and walked over to place her empty glass on the desk behind him. As she reached forward, he caught a whiff of something floral again. Not that he needed that distraction while trying to talk about something like the whole vigilante/superhero problem of the country. Aaaand, she wasn't pulling away. Upwards of 10-sons-of-bitches kind of evening, apparently. "It's not just going to stop with registration. Then it's going to turn into superheroes doing things for the government, or not being allowed to operate at all."

"What's so bad about that?" Dean didn't really think about the question, he was more just asking so she kept talking. The look on her face soured considerably, and she pulled away from the charged closeness between them.  _Okay, fuckin' focus. Upstairs brain, upstairs brain!_

"The government is full of interest groups, people who can be bought and sold. I would know. I'm friends with a few of them." Chloe made her way over to her bed and took a seat. "I used to help heroes. I was sort of their… navigator, treehouse captain. The Christopher Robin to their Winnie the Pooh and Friends. I worked with a group of heroes, working to help stop the more dangerous elements of society." Chloe grabbed a pillow and clutched it in her arms as she spoke. "But, eventually, things got so bad that the only way to save those heroes from the government was to… leave them. I had to erase my identity so that no one could find me."

The way she went silent, her eyes drifting down to the floor… Dean's eyes widened. "Wait, so your friends don't know where you are?"

"Well, up until a month ago, they thought I was dead."

"Dead? Why would they – "

Chloe held her hand up to stop him. "Dean, that isn't a story I'm ready to tell. Let's just say that to keep those heroes safe, faking my death was the cleanest break I could manage. But," A rueful, nostalgic smile flickered onto her lips. "I never expected them to take long to realize I faked it."

He frowned. "Anyone in particular?"

"There was someone," Chloe's smile continued to fade. "He was… special. But, I knew I'd never be able to hold onto him. Not when there is so much he needs to do."

She fell silent, and Dean focused on his empty glass in his hand. For just a second, he tried to put himself in her shoes. He couldn't. Not that he didn't think he could make the sacrifice, but he didn't have any sort of sensation to compare it to. It had always just been him, Dad, and Sammy. He didn't have a network of close buddies, or hell, even a best friend besides Sam. Could he honestly just ditch them all? He didn't know. If he was put in the same position as his Dad was, would he make the same deal?

"It was pure coincidence I was in Delight, actually. This was not part of my plan. Well, it was, but, I figured that what led me here would lead me to something about how to help my friends." Dean glanced up, watching as Chloe nuzzled the pillow in her arms sleepily. His gaze flicked down at his watch. Damn, it was 3 AM. No wonder she was getting sleepy, she'd been screwed with by a crazy ghost all night, she probably hadn't felt rested at all. "The longer we're here, though, the more I'm starting to think that maybe this is related to something else."

"Else?" Dean furrowed his brow, putting his glass down and walking towards her again.

"Like I said, I've had some experiences with magic, among other things. And… at some point, I got a glimpse of something that's coming in the future." Chloe reached up, running a hand through her hair. "This probably sounds crazy, but… there's a Darkness coming, Dean. Something big, and it's going to affect all of us."

Suddenly, Dean had figured it out. Why they were here. This was related to the demon. It had to be… "You're not crazy." He grumbled, taking a seat next to her on the bed, reaching over and taking her injured wrist in hand. He gently turned it over, so they could both see the bandage. His thumbs idly rubbed at the sides of her wrists, as if trying to stop the soreness he knew she had ot be feeling. "This right here means you're not crazy. I've seen some weird shit, but I've never seen something quite like this. I mean, I've seen demonic possession, and this ain't it." Chloe's eyes were focused on his fingers, her lids heavy. "I've seen ghosts haunting, I've seen deavas and poltergeists, and women trapped in mirrors, but this?" He frowned, shaking his head, trying to drag every little bit of Hunting knowledge he could think of. "Only thing I can think that could haunt as far away from their place of death would be like, a…" It came together in his head. Uh-oh. "Never mind."  _Dude. You're fucking massaging her skin. The fuck is wrong with you?_ Dean let go of her hand, swallowing thickly. "Look, it's late, you should probably sleep."

He heard a little sigh leave her lips, and Dean glanced over, not expecting to a soft smile on those luscious lips. Okay, what the fuck was he gonna do now? He was tryin' to be nice here, to just thank her for being honest, then let her get some sleep. She had to keep  _looking_  at him, dammit. "I'm gonna need more of that booze before I can sleep again."

He chuckled some, getting up and making his way to the mini-fridge. The moment he left her, though, he found every synapse screaming to go sit back down next to her. Was he really that hard up? Honestly? He was starting to think his body had it out for him. "How'd you learn to put 'em down, anyway? Or are you just tryin' to impress me?" Dean quipped as he poured them shots of rum and moved back to the bed, handing back her glass.

"Oh, no, you don't get to be Lois Lane's cousin and not know how to knock them back." Chloe drained the glass, then let out the familiar sigh of relief as liquor burned its way down.

"So, you really know Lois Lane? She's your cousin?" Dean smirked.

"Oh, yeah…" Chloe grinned, the same kind of grin Dean got on his face when talking about his brother. Y'know, when he wasn't being a complete dumbass.

A few more shots down and casual conversation about family passed quickly enough that even Dean started to feel like he could crash again. He stifled a yawn in the middle of Chloe regaling him with a tale of how Lois once showed up on a date with her current boyfriend from a monster truck rally, but it was too late. Once he yawned, it was infectious, and Chloe's next spoken "Lois" turned into "Lo-hooooooawn."

Which only made them both start laughing.

"I guess the monster truck story will have to wait for morning," Chloe mumbled, reaching up to rub her eyes. She'd relaxed to the point where Dean was slightly hopeful – no, wait,  _concerned_ , that didn't sound so skeezy – that she would fall asleep on his shoulder.

"You know what? I will just wait in rapturous suspense." Dean grinned, slowly extricating himself from the Leaning Chloe of Smallville on his shoulder. He grabbed their glasses and brought them to the sink, hearing her shift on the bed. "Hop in bed, and I am gonna text Sammy so he knows where I am." He turned to face Chloe, but apparently had stopped her in mid-stretch. He caught sight of bare, flat, muscular stomach, and felt blood rush immediately from his brain to his groin. _Sonuvabitch._

Chloe dropped her arms and that bare skin he had a sudden urge to run his tongue down –  _no, Dean!_  – was gone, out of sight. Thank god. "Sorry, what? Why do you need to text Sam?"

"Well, I'm not lettin' you go back to sleep alone. Not after what just happened." Dean pointed to his sawed off in the corner, and the line of salt on her windows and doors that he'd touched up when he first brought her in. "You just go to sleep, and I'll hang out here."

Oh, boy. He just got proof that when that girl blushed, the blush went from her face right to her chest and under that tank top. And now he was thinking about what was under that tank top, since there were two very particularly shaped bumps on her tank top that suggested she was - "I… you would do that? You're just going to stay here, and what, watch me sleep?"

Dean's eyes were wrenched from where they'd drifted to her chest, and he met eyes with her, chuckling and shaking his head. "Hell, no. I figured I'd curl up in the chair and snooze til dawn. Once you get a good night's sleep in, I'll catch up on my Zz's when Sammy's up." To illustrate the point, he plopped down in the chair, kicking off his sneakers before propping his legs up on the desk. "See? Comfy as hell."

Chloe gave him a skeptical look to end all skeptical looks, but he gave her the patented Dean-Winchester-is-right-and-you-will-not-prove-him-wrong eyebrow wiggle. So, clearly, she was completely mesmerized by his charms and got in bed. Right? Right.

Except not.

Chloe turned off the lights, so Dean thought he'd won. Of course, he did not expect her to suddenly walk over to him in the darkness and push his feet off the desk. "If you're going to be my watch dog, then at least be comfortable. Actually comfortable. This is a King-size bed. I practically swim in it. There's room for two."

 _Say no, Dean_ , a part of his brain – the rational part – kept telling him. The other part of his brain, though, the part that had infinitely more fun and almost always won out, said, "You sure? I mean, I don't want to make you uncomfortable – "

"Well, you're not leaving. And you watching me sleep means I won't sleep." Chloe's bossy voice was out again.

Stretching his legs, Dean slowly rose, taking a deep breath to calm the fact that for some reason, his heart had started to pound. He wasn't sure where the nerves were coming from. He knew that, realistically, he wouldn't ever take advantage of her, and he figured her motives for making him get in bed were exactly what she said they were: she didn't want him just watching her sleep. But, as if he wasn't already feeling tense enough, now he was gonna have to be right next to this hot Leggy Blonde that he  _knew_  he wanted to sleep with. That had to be it. Maybe he was just afraid that he couldn't control his animal instinct. The thought made him smirk, and he walked over to the bed, texting Sam as he did so. " **Chlo's. Explain 2morrow.** "

He stripped off his fatigue shirt, but left his jeans on and began to climb into bed as Chloe did the same on her end. Well, not the jeans part. The climbing into bed part. As he put his phone on the nightstand beside him and settled in, he heard his keys in his pocket jingle.

"Dean, you don't have to wear your jeans to bed. There is no way that's comfortable." Chloe chuckled, sounding more sleepy by the second.

Inwardly, he was trying to figure out whether she knew what she was doing to him or not, but of course, he had to follow it up with a quip instead, something he knew he could control. "Didn't know you wanted my pants off so badly…" A soft groan from the other side of the bed sent a shiver of sensation straight down his spine to his hips, and he realized that now the jeans  _had_  to come off, because they were painful. Of course, that also meant he had to will away his arousal, _because this was not the damn time._

After a moment of internal debate, Dean got out of bed long enough to take off his jeans and then back in. Okay, now he was finally settled in bed.

Silence descended over the two of them in the darkness, and Dean tried to think of everything else he possibly could other than Chloe being in bed next to him. No, correction, he needed to think about keeping her safe. That would help keep him on task.

"Night, Dean…" Chloe whispered sleepily beside him. He coulda sworn she was trying to make sure he was still there.

"Night, Blondie." Dean rolled onto his side to face her, relieved that she was facing away from him on her stomach, looking comfortable and relaxed. "I promise, nothin's gonna happen to you." His only response was a happy little sigh. She seemed to be out like a light.

Much as Dean wanted to, he couldn't do the same. For the next fifteen minutes, he spent them watching the rise and fall of Chloe's back as she slept. If he was right about what was going on with the Countess, he honestly didn't know if he could protect her. While they'd been talking, while he'd been going through all the possibilities in his head, he'd stumbled upon one of the few kinds of ghosts he'd never encountered. A revenant. It would make sense. Revenants came back to enact vengeance, or to continue what they did in life. Someone like Bathory never woulda repented. When she died, she would have wanted to continue her quest for eternal youth. But how the fuck did she get out here? That meant they needed a body, or part of the body. But how would the Countess's body get all the way from Hungary to here? And again, why the fuck did she seem to want to torture Chloe so badly? As far as they knew, the Countess had just taken the girls. They didn't know anything was wrong. But, Chloe? Yeah, this felt different

His phone buzzed on the nightstand beside him, probably Sam replying with a sleepy, garbled "OK", but the sound made Chloe jump a mile, propping herself up on her elbows, looking around fearfully.

"Hey, hey," Dean whispered, scooting closer to her on the bed, resting his hand on her back, rubbing gently. "You're fine, Chlo. Just my phone, you're fine." He grinned some as she blearily looked at him, only to slowly settle back down on her pillow. "Go back to sleep, Blondie."

To his surprise, Chloe suddenly made a move towards him, shifting to the center of the bed until she was laying right next to him, her shoulder pressed gently against his chest.

Oooookay.

Swallowing again, he settled into the bed, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her closer. The happy sigh he received made him relax more, and before he knew it, he was sleepily snuggled against her, his nose buried in her hair. "You're gonna be just fine, Chloe…"

"Oliver…" She whispered, the word feeling like a lead weight smacking him in the head, then straight through to his stomach.

" _There was someone… he was special…"_

_OLIVER QUEEN REVEALS IDENTITY AS GREEN ARROW –_

" _I had to leave them."_

" _The secrets I kept are secrets I keep because I can't divulge them for anything. Or anyone."_

Chloe Sullivan had been dating Green Arrow. He was fucking snuggling a superhero's girlfriend.

"Sonuvabitch…"


	11. Are You there, Alice? It's Me, Chloe

_Darkness blanketed the hallway as firm, strong arms wrapped around her body._

_  
“Chloe...” His voice was like the ichor that flowed through the veins of the gods, sending flushes and chills in concordant rhythms. “I need you... now...” Those arms held her close in the nondescript hallway, her chest pressed against firm, hard muscle barely contained in the button down and T-shirt he always wore. Fingers grasped at the material, she hastily pulled the barrier between them aside. The groan that rumbled through his body echoed down the hall, washing over her sensitive nerves. In the darkness, all was clear.  
  
His lips met hers in the black, tantalizing, soft, almost hesitant, caresses of forbidden attraction, a lust laid bare.  
  
The room dissolved, clothes as well, and suddenly, the two were tangled in crimson bed sheets, hands grasping for purchase in his hair, his shoulders, nails raking as they joined in a heated rhythm.  
  
He muttered her name, growling it as though each time he said it, he claimed her as his own, pressing her further into the bed with every thrust of his hips. The moans escaped her without reservation as her hands searched for more, only for one of his calloused, rough ones to grab her wrists and pin them over her head. She was at his mercy, everything felt right, everything felt perfect.  
  
“Dean...” She panted.  
  
They rolled and she arched her back, straddling him like a Queen of this dark boudoir as he thrust deeper, closer to where she needed him. Wrists free, she laughed, a groan interrupting the cadence as she felt shivers of sensation. No thoughts of anything but the rock-hard body beneath her, her nails streaked across his pectorals without a care.  
  
The two of them rose higher and higher towards the crashing tide, neither focused on the soft candlelight or the knife on the nightstand.  
  
Crimson lines from the scratches she’d left caught her eye.  
  
Slender, elegant fingers found the knife where it gleamed, begging for nourishment. He called her name, his climax destroying his focus, and she grinned. Cold. Hungry.  
  
The knife slowly dragged from one shoulder to the other. She was gleeful as his cries of pain heralded the coming banquet, the feast of youth, of pain.  
  
Dipping her head lower, she ran her tongue across the narrow, artistic wounds, iron blood charging her senses. At last, for so long, she’d waited, begging, pleading for the release.  
  
The strikes continued lower, to his stomach, ignorant of his struggles. He was powerless before her. Her pale skin was the perfect canvas for the paint, his blood on her hands coated her luscious lips, her decadent breasts and the curves of her hips. The knife, slick in her hands, begged, called to her. She rose her hands, staring down at the man who made her blood boil, the knife point prepared to strike.  
  
 **Chosen Girl... you are being used. The Path is dangerous.  
  
Protect them at all costs.**_   
  
Chloe’s eyes flew open, her whole body chilled and flushed, tangled in bed sheets. The thundering hooves of lust pounding through her blood were quickly chased by the icy cold of terror as her dream came flooding to her all at once. Her stomach churned as her whole body felt charged at every synapse. The conflicting sensations made the petite blonde writhe in bed as she tried to cool the fire in her blood.   
  
A ragged breath escaped her lips as she untangled her arms from the fabric, reaching up to brush strands of yellow out of her eyes. As she did so, she felt the clamminess of her palms, the way her hair stuck to her face, and realized she was covered in sweat. For someone who was so used to people messing with her head, putting her through things that gave her nightmares, she couldn’t ever remember being this scared in a long time. Chloe’s gray eyes stared blankly at the ceiling as she panted, trying to block the images of her dream out of her mind. Never mind the fact that she’d been dreaming about Dean and her doing  _things_  that they would  _never_  do, but, then she was cutting him and…   
  
He wasn’t beside her. Dean wasn’t sleeping beside her. She’d just been sleepwalking the night before, what if she’d…   
  
Chloe sat up so fast her head spun, but she didn’t care. “Dean? _Dean!_ ” Her voice sounded foreign to her, the concern and terror lacing every bit of his name. “Dean, where-“ Her eyes scanned the room frantically just as the door to the motel room opened. Sauntering through it, like it was no skin off his back, was Dean Winchester, in blue jeans and a slate blue button-down, two cups of coffee in his hands.   
  
Chloe was out of bed in an instant, working solely on instinct. She practically flew to him, her hands groping at his chest, tugging at the shirt, pulling it up to make sure the wounds weren’t there.  _Please, she can’t, Fate, you can’t let her hurt them…_   
  
His stomach was fine. It was better than fine. It was… defined muscles under taut, tan skin, and there wasn’t a mark on him. It was better than her fantasy, her hands could just trace along those creases and…   
  
“Uhh… so, normally, I wouldn’t stop a hot, Leggy Blonde from undressin’ me, but, uh… this isn’t really… you behavior, uh… Blondie.” Dean’s voice was far too casual for Chloe’s liking, but the rumbling tones did make Chloe pause, realizing just what she was doing. In her rush to make sure that she hadn’t actually hurt him, she had just completely violated his personal space. What the hell, was she Lois now?   
  
Chloe backpedaled, dropping his shirt and trying to find any place that her apparently judiciously greedy hands could go. That wasn’t Dean’s stomach. Oh, seriously? She didn’t need to be thinking about his stomach. Or any other part of him. This was  _not_  normal for her. She wasn’t boy crazy. She wasn’t dopey teen-aged Chloe Sullivan who slept with Jimmy, the guy at the Daily Planet during her internship. This was the Chloe Sullivan who’d lost Jimmy… who’d lost Oliver.   
  
Oliver. The thought sobered her. Knowing she’d lost him had made it hurt less to be away from him, but…What was she doing? Why was she thinking about  _Dean_  when she was very clearly on a path to save  _Oliver_ ? She knew, inherently, that when this case was over, she wouldn’t see him again. Except... when she would have to sacrifice her sanity for Fate. For all she knew, he could still be an enemy at the end of the day.   
  
_Love is dangerous... The Chosen Girl. Nabu knows. Would you sacrifice your sanity to save the Archer?  
  
 **You will lose Oliver, but you are not alone.  
  
The Path is dangerous.  
  
There will be another.**_   
  
Chloe blinked as she heard Dean say her name, pulling herself out of her reverie. Woah. Was it just her, or had the game of Trivial Pursuit in her head just given her a new pie slice on the board? That had been Nabu’s voice, and she couldn’t remember hearing those words before. There will be another? What was he trying to tell her?   
  
“Chloe.” Dean must’ve said her name at least two more times, because she knew he’d been talking, but she just... in one ear, out the other. Trying to focus and take stock in her surroundings, she took a deep breath and glanced up at him, trying to force a strained smile.   
  
“Sorry. After the nightmares I’ve had, I feel like I live on Elm Street. I was scared that...” Her gaze flickered from his face down to his stomach again, her stomach turning unpleasantly as she tried to ignore the flash of bloody gashes along his body. “Someone got hurt...”   
  
Dean’s smirking face suddenly came into view as he tilted his head to meet her gaze. “Hey.” He reached down, pulling up his shirt again and revealing those tanned abs with not a single mark on them and-  _Oh, for the love of God, Chloe, stop getting distracted._ “I’m fine, you didn’t do anything.” Just from the look on his face, that twinkle in his eyes, that smirk, she knew he wanted to tease her more. Most likely another comment about seeing his skin. God, and she thought Oliver had been bad enough.   
  
Swallowing, Chloe tore her eyes away from Dean’s body, and instead focused on something else, like the cups in his hands. “Um... you brought coffee?” She asked hopefully, taking the opportunity to change the subject.   
  
“Uh, yeah,” Another roguish grin, and before Chloe could speak again, he was holding out one of them for her. As she took the styrofoam cup, her eyes caught sight of the abbreviated markings on the side of it. Her eyes widened as that lightning-fast brain of hers deciphered the readings. “You got me a decaf, caramel, java-chip white-chocolate mocha with three shots in it?” _No freaking way, Sullivan. No way this Rock’n’Roll Greasemonkey remembered that._   
  
“Heck yeah, you order it like, all the time. It’s the only damn thing I ever see you get when we go to the coffee shop on the main street.” Dean sounded so insufferably proud of himself, but Chloe really didn’t notice. She still couldn’t believe it. Dean Winchester. Man’s man, man about town, the guy that up until last night, she was pretty sure never spoke to a woman who didn’t either A) give him something he wanted or B) was the thing he wanted.... he remembered how she liked her coffee. And he’d gotten up in the middle of the night to pull her off of a railing she’d been playing ballerina upon, and then stayed with her. And talked with her.   
  
_Oliver never even remembered what kind of coffee I drank..._   
  
“I dunno why you drink any of this stuff. I mean, you’re short. By my standards, and I live with Jumbo.” Dean was still grumbling, albeit cheerily - if Dean did that. Did he do that? Actually, yeah, he had to be the only person she’d ever met who could grumble like Lois, with a flipping smile on his face, too.   
  
Brushing the errant thoughts aside with the strands of her hair in her eyes, she took a sip of coffee, letting the much needed fuel for the Chloe-mobile wash through her system, effectively calming her down the rest of the way. Better. Much better. She could focus on the day’s challenges, and now that she knew Dean was safe and sound, she could try to decipher her nightmare.   
  
Dean chuckled, breaking her out of her java-induced state of zen. “I actually think they got groups for your kind of addiction there, Blondie. You want, I can have Sammy look ‘em up - ” Chloe held a hand up, hoping to silence him as she took another sip of her drink. Seriously, this guy could talk as long as he wanted, he was not going to remove her from her happy coffee place. Abs or no abs. _Stop thinking about his abs, for God’s sake._   
  
To be fair, she had been thinking about Clark’s abs for a _loooong_  time after she stopped being interested in him. It was part of the hazards of being surrounded by incredibly attractive, athletic, heroic men. Sometimes, the cylinders fired even when she had the car in neutral.  _Oh, fun. I’m making analogies about cars. Dean is beginning to rub off on me._   
  
Half the cup drained, Chloe finally put the delicious, medically necessary beverage down, and glanced back up at the resident Han Solo in her motel room. Apparently, with Chloe focused on her coffee, he’d taken the opportunity to flop onto her bed and stretch out. Instead of the warning bells from before, though, she found herself just... endeared to the behavior. To be fair, she had settled into a nice rhythm with the boys, different from Watchtower, different from anything she really knew to be familiar. They were sort of like constant vagrants. She never expected them to be there the next morning, yet she inherently knew they wouldn’t leave until this town was safe. Heroes. Always the heroes.   
  
“Thank you for the fill-up, hoss,” Chloe smiled, trying to keep a brave front on, even as that feeling of nervousness and worry began to creep up as soon as she had swallowed the last drop of caffeine. “Now that I’ve gotten some fuel in the tank, I think it’s time I took a shower. No offense, but I don’t particularly care to smell like salt, sweat and booze.”  _And I need some time to think..._  Her mind echoed what she simply couldn’t say. Turning, she made her way to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer, glancing through her modest wardrobe. _Funny, none of this looks like you, Chloe._  The sardonic thought was brushed away just as quickly as it occurred with a sweep of the shirt and jeans she pulled free from the drawer. She expected to hear Dean stand, but... no surprise as she glanced up at the mirror in front of her, Mister Winchester was still lounging lazily. “Hey, Dean? I don’t actually need a guard dog while I scrub off funk.”   
  
Dean did no more than gulp down a bit of his own coffee, then give her another one of those oh-so-familiar smirks of his. “Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when you stop tryin’ to off yourself, okay, Princess?”   
  
_That’s a new one._  “So I’m a Princess now?” She chuckled, making her way to the bathroom and leaving the door slightly ajar as she turned the faucet on. This battle would not be worth fighting, he could stay there for all she cared.   
  
“Yeah, well, you are pretty high-maintenance with your decaf caramel java-chip white chocolate mocha with three shots.” It was really good he couldn’t see her, because Chloe saw her own reflection. The smirk and roll of her eyes would have just given Dean more fuel for the fire.   
  
“Yeah, about that,” She called over the sound of running water, pulling off her pajama top. “Wanna tell me how you have Total Recall on my drink choices?” The moment she spoke, she couldn’t help but grin. She already knew the answer. “Never mind, I’m sure it’s part of Dean Winchester’s Book on How to Pick Up Women.”   
  
“‘Ey!” She heard Dean bark just as she moved to close the door. “If I actually had a book like that, you think I’d be doin’ this? I’d be layin’ on my piles of money!”   
  
“I never said it was published!” The door shut with a resounding click. All that was left was Chloe’s breath, and the sound of water hitting the porcelain tub.   
  
Stripping down the rest of the way, she stepped into the hot spray and pulled the curtain closed behind her. Tilting her head back, Chloe relished in the sensation of finally getting clean. Her dream had left her feeling as though she’d never rested at all, terrified at what was possible, what she’d seen.  _I should tell them._ .. The thought echoed in her mind. But how? How could she explain the last few weeks to them?   
  
From their understanding, Chloe was a hapless victim, being plagued by moments of listlessness that ended in self-harm.  _Well, that part is true, Sullivan, so you won’t have a print a retraction just yet._   
  
She reached for the shampoo idly as she replayed the last few weeks here. While it was true that she hadn’t been aware of what the Countess made her do, she had been aware of one thing: the boys saw something, but it wasn’t what she had. Ever since they’d been stopped outside the Viera home by the vision of Bathory and her carriage, Chloe realized that somewhere along the way, the three of them had gone down separate paths. Dean had mentioned that he’d seen ghosts of the girls who’d been taken, and while Sam had also mentioned it, he never sounded as worried about that as... something else. And Chloe?   
  
She saw the Countess in herself.   
  
At first, it would only be in glimpses from the corner of her eye. She’d pass a window and swear she’d seen red. Or, she’d brush her hair and glance in the mirror, stunned to see long, black tresses instead of the pale, straw blonde she loved. Then came more of the cutting and bleeding. That she could understand, though! The Countess’s entire modus operandi was to bathe in the blood of young women. It seemed like she was marking Chloe, as if to claim her as a new victim. Yet, for some reason, other girls were being taken.   
  
Chloe knew something was different, but her dream... it gave her a glance into the possibilities. She was with Dean, and she was hurting him. She craved that pain, there was a hunger to wound and touch the crimson blood of someone else that it made her at once sick and yet pained with desire.   
  
_That’s not me. I know that’s not me.  
  
 **The Path is dangerous. You are the Chosen Girl. You are the mirror.**_   
  
Chloe dropped the shampoo as the words flooded through her body, mind and soul. Even though she knew her eyes were open, nothing but golden light flooded her vision. Chloe gripped at the wall, waiting for the moment to pass.   
  
_**The light inside you is desired by many. Protect it at all costs.** _   
  
With a ragged gasp, Chloe’s vision went from gold back to the dull colors of her shower.   
  
The Path. Everything Fate had told her had led her here, and then the trail stopped cold. She’d wondered why, the Countess had even used that insecurity against her, and yet, the answer was in her face all along. Words from her vision provided by Nabu, the one that she knew she’d never peel back all the layers to...   
  
Suddenly, the way the Countess had come after her was beginning to make sense. That couldn’t have _just_  been a dream. No, she was sure she’d heard the voice of Dr. Fate.   
  
Oh, god, he knew. Fate had  _known_ this was where she’d be going. He knew that by sending her to Delight, by setting her on this path, she would eventually be in this situation.  _That_  was why the words had come to her. That was why there had been nothing but silence as she met the Winchesters, got to know them, worked with them.   
  
“Nabu knows...” Chloe whispered, swallowing thickly. In her dream, she had heard him speak. She had heard his voice as she’d reached down to send a killing blow to the Dean in her dreams. “I’m the mirror...” Her knees weakened as the realization began to weigh upon her. “Oh my god, the Countess wants me... for  _me_ .” All the images made sense. In place of dead girls, there was only the one vision. Always the one vision.   
  
Chloe shut the shower off, ignoring the fact that while the shampoo was out of her hair, she felt dirty all over again. “She wants my body.”   
  
With that knowledge now securely entrenched within her mind, Chloe quashed any fear she had. In a flurry, she dressed in the blue jeans and blood red V-necked shirt she’d grabbed. Her hair, she towel-dried, and she was on her way out the door again. She needed to talk to Sam and Dean, she had a hunch, and she just needed to -   
  
Chloe paused in the doorway as she got a good look at her bed. Oh, that’s right. Dean was still here. And he was asleep. Totally dozing.   
  
For just a moment, it was easy to forget her life in Smallville, in Metropolis. It was easy to forget the whole sordid affair that had been Chloe Sullivan’s life up until three months ago. As much as she was worried about the outcome, one thing she could not deny was how good this experience had been. Dean and Sam’s personalities made it impossible for her not to get drawn in, to feel a sense of connection that made her think that for two minutes, maybe she belonged.   
  
_You belong with Oliver. And Clark, and Lois. You had a life, Chloe_ . A part of her mind reminded her, the same part that made her walk over towards Dean on the bed. Don’t be so quick to give it up. She really wanted to ignore that little conscience of hers. Knowing how difficult, how dark and stormy the days ahead would be, she couldn’t help but want to stay here. With the Winchesters. Being a “Hunter.” Simple, on a case-by-case basis, always moving. Too bad there wasn’t a way to have her cake and eat it, too.   
  
Chloe made her way to the bed, tapping Dean’s foot and watching him stir. “So,” She started as he sat up, a little bleary-eyed. “Aside from taking a bite of the poisoned apple from the Evil Queen,” Chloe took a seat on the bed beside him, one leg tucked under the other. “Did I do anything else that would earn me a spot on this year’s Scream Queen list?” It was best to play the hapless victim. Just because she knew the Countess’s endgame didn’t mean that she needed to give anything else up. Not to him. Not when she knew what was at stake.   
  
“Uhhh...” Dean cleared his throat, sitting up completely and swiping a hand over his eyes, presumably to wake up. “Not that I can think of. You slept just fine.”   
  
“Good.” Now that Chloe had a purpose and a goal, she was calculating how to get to the end of the Yellow Brick Road before the Wicked Witch. “I would ask if you touched base with Sam, but given how I found you, I will just take a wild guess and say it slipped your mind.” Which didn’t surprise her, but honestly, she wanted both of them there while they figured this out. Both of them, as loathe as they were to compliment each other, knew each had a specialty in hunting. In the same way that you didn’t ask Vic to handle a problem with something in the ocean, Arthur knew that Vic had a technical prowess that even Chloe couldn’t deny.   
  
“Nah, he was still sleepin’ when I checked on him earlier.” The look on Dean’s face changed. She’d expected him to start flirting about how he’d rather spend time with her than his “gay brother”. It was typical of what she knew of Dean. So when his sleepy smirk crumbled, only for his jaw to set and his eyes to drop down to the ground, focusing on the floor, it caught her off-guard. “First time I’ve seen him sleep past 6 for...” Dean’s gaze trembled a little. Had things really changed that much last night? She felt like he was opening up - “Know what? Forget it.”   
  
Chloe, for just a second, was sure that Bart had just zipped by, because the space next to her was suddenly empty as Dean was already up and heading to the door. “Where - “   
  
“I’m gonna go wake Poindexter up, we’re gonna need him up and runnin’ asap. You tried to off yourself like you were in The Happening last night, I don’t like it.” And just like that, he was gone, out the door.   
  
“Holy crap, it is  _just_  like Clark...” She whispered, amused in spite of the macabre situation she was in. “If he’s not speeding away, he’s telling me what to do.” Grabbing her jacket and her coffee, Chloe slipped on her closest pair of flats so she could join the boys in their motel room.   
  
Shutting the door behind her, Chloe absently glanced out towards the parking lot.   
  
A shiver ran from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She was there. She was right there.   
  
_Haia haia, mica baia..._   
  
Chloe’s eyes glazed, her eyelids growing heavy as she heard the melodic, unearthly song through her ears, through her very blood.   
  
_Haia, hai, hai..._   
  
Chloe Sullivan’s feet moved of their own accord, stepping towards the edge of the balcony as the raven hair of the Countess Erzebet Bathory whipped in a wind only she seemed to feel. Her hand gripped the railing tightly, her stomach pressed against the frigid metal as what had once been a mild morning became chilling. Her shallow breath curled from her precious lips in a faint mist, but all had faded from her view. All except the Countess.   
  
_Cati copii ai..._   
  
The Countess’s hand raised to invite. Chloe’s followed, the marionette on the string in this morbid play.   
  
_Take a step, lululica. Take the step, come down to join me..._   
  
The voice was silken water, fire, ice and earth all at once. Her heart pounded, the throbbing sensation so poignant, so painful, Chloe could not disobey.   
  
“Chloe?”   
  
She blinked. Sam. She heard Sam.   
  
Shaking her head, gray eyes searched the parking lot, the spell was broken, the Countess gone. No longer enthralled, Chloe turned, presenting a more reserved front. The younger Winchester was standing in the doorway, jeans, plaid shirt and hands stuffed in his pockets. “You okay?” He asked, voice casual and, perhaps a little worried.   
  
Swallowing, the somewhat nervous, green-energy low-wattage Chloe Sullivan smile slid onto her features. “Yeah. Sure. I just needed some air before I stepped into the Winchester Man-Cave.”   
  
A shy smile and chuckle from Sam were the only response she received, but it was for the best. Trying to brush her thoughts of what the Countess had done aside, she sipped her coffee and stepped past him into the room.  _Time to really crack down, Sullivan. Time to bring the bad guy in and put this paper to bed._   
  
“So, I filled Sammy in on the whole you-thinkin’-you-could-fly thing,” Dean had settled down at the small table they utilized as their work area. “Figured you didn’t mind.”   
  
“No,” Chloe smirked, playful sarcasm already on her lips. “It’s perfectly natural for me to experience a somnambulistic episode involving a sanguinarian Hungarian Countess with a penchant for little girls.” She placed her nearly empty cup of fuel on the desk in front of Dean. “Thank you for the candor.” She winked.   
  
Dean blinked, as if he needed to in order to kick-start his brain after Chloe’s verbal trip into Webster’s. “Of course, that’s the kind of guy I am, Blondie. Real considerate.”   
  
“ _What?_ ” Sam laughed as the door shut behind them. “Oh, whatever, you are  _not_  - ”   
  
“Before the two of you start up this morning, can we keep the compasses focused North, please?” Chloe was patient, but she knew how quickly the two of them could get going, and before she’d know it, it would be Sam vs. Dean, round 15.   
  
Huffing, Sam rolled his eyes as he crossed the room, making his way to the kitchenette so he could pour more coffee from their pot. “Unfortunately, we still don’t know what the Countess is, or what she’s trying to do. Other than take girls.”   
  
“I bet you money we’re missin’ something small,” Dean growled as he finished his coffee. “I mean, let’s recap. Just for the hell of it. Maybe Sammy spent too much time watching porn, not enough time working.” _Typical, Dean, nice high road you’re taking,_  Chloe thought sardonically.   
  
Glowering, Sam was the first to speak. “Well, total’s up to 10 girls,” He tossed hair out of his eyes on the way back to the bed and folded one long, lanky leg under as he took a seat. “We know that at least three of them had the Bathory Coat of Arms charm, but we haven’t been able to figure out why.”   
  
“And their parents sure as hell ain’t talkin’,” Dean grumbled. Chloe could practically feel the frustration radiating off of the Winchester who always smelled like leather and gunpowder  _\- woah, Sullivan. Less gossip column, more front page._  “So, we got bubkus, Chuckles. That’s what we got.”   
  
“Well, I mean, we know that the parents are scared. They won’t say why, but considering how much the Colemans talked to you and Chloe?” Sam ran his hand through his hair as Chloe rested against their dresser, gnawing gently on her lower lip thoughtfully. “Yeah, I dunno, I feel like they should’ve had way more to fear from the Countess than the Vieras, the Rawlings, or anyone else.”   
  
Chloe’s eyes widened. The synapses fired. “Roses.”   
  
There was silence for a moment. The weight of what she’d said settled over the trio as Sam and Dean exchanged glances, unspoken communication Chloe was accustomed to at this point.   
  
Dean was the first to look back at her, the two boys seemingly at a loss. “Peanut butter.” He said simply. “See? I can say random words, too.”   
  
A chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop it. “That’s not what I meant, but thanks for that, now I’m hungry.” As much as she wanted to be annoyed that he was joking, she certainly wasn’t. Again, it was endearing... Chloe sobered. She couldn’t have endearing right now. She had a purpose, she _really_ needed to focus on what was important. Stopping the Countess. “There were roses all over the Coleman residence. Do you remember, Dean? I mean, it was kind of hard to ignore, the scent was everywhere.”   
  
“I don’t, uh...” Dean glanced over at his brother. “I don’t normally pay attention to flower smells. It’s not really on the top of my radar.”   
  
_Five bucks says if I asked you what my shampoo was, you’d know. You notice details..._ An idle thought shot back before she could get her head back in the proverbial game. Chloe ran a hand through her short, straight hair. “Look, the point is, that’s something the Colemans had that the others didn’t. Why would that set them apart? Why would their daughter be taken, they divulge more information than anyone else, yet they are perfectly fine?” The questions hung in the air like a children’s mobile, spinning softly above their heads with no end in sight.   
  
Until Sam snapped his fingers and grabbed for his laptop, stretching across the mattress. “Dean, gimme.” He flicked his fingers impatiently until the thin - but not nearly as classy as Chloe’s Watchtower tablets - laptop was finally in his grasp. His fingers flew across the keys for a moment, and with another quick swipe on the trackpad, Sam's accomplished smile graced his features. "So... I think I figured it out.” Even Dean was shutting up for the moment. “Roses started out as a symbol of the wounds of Christ. Eventually, the meaning morphed into a symbol for the blood of Christian martyrs.” He paused to breathe. “Bathory was a devout Protestant. Even if she was crazy, her spirit would believe that roses repelled the dead.” Sam shot a curious glance his sibling's way. “I wonder why we never used them.”   
  
“Maybe ‘cause using flowers would just look gay?” Chloe arched an eyebrow at Dean’s choice of words. “Anyway, that’s not the point. You’re sayin’ that the Coleman’s had a Valentine’s Day bouquet of weird in their living room, so that’s why the Countess hasn’t done whatever it is she wants to do to the parents?”   
  
“That’s what it looks like.” Sam reached up to scratch his neck idly, thinking. The room fell silent as the three of them mulled it over. “So... she stays away from the Colemans because of the roses in the house. But that carriage is clearly a manifestation of some kind.”   
  
“I think it’s a Revenant.” Dean blurted with such certainty that even Chloe had to whip her head to look at him.  _Then again, Chlo, he treats ghosts like you treat Kandorians and Amazons._   
  
“A...” Disbelief colored Sam’s voice as he considered what his brother said. “A revenant? Seriously?” He shook his head, brow furrowing again. “I dunno, man, revenants tend to attack people they knew. Plus, they stay close to home. Why would she suddenly show up hundreds of years later,  _thousands_ of miles from her home?”   
  
Silence fell again, this time filled with tension as Dean found himself unable to come up with a rebuttal. Chloe hated this. Her limited knowledge of the paranormal and supernatural sometimes came into direct conflict with what she knew about aliens, science and magic. But, then again...   
  
“Maybe something brought her here.” Chloe spoke to the quiet room. Older memories of high school seemed to come floating to the surface, but it felt a little like she was having to dust off cobwebs. There just wasn’t enough coffee in this entire motel building for Chloe to be working at her peak. “Growing up, a friend of mine, Lana, went to France for a summer to study. When she came back, she had this tattoo on her back that no one had ever seen before. A ghost wound up piggybacking on my BFF by giving her that tattoo. Sounds just as likely that someone in this town brought a part of Bathory back with them.” Okay, considering how difficult it had been to dredge that up, Chloe made a bee line for the coffee pot, pouring what was left. It was better than nothing.   
  
“Well, that would explain why the parents know about the Countess but don’t want to stop her. Or won’t.” Sam’s brow knit in worry. “I mean, they have to know  _something_ , but they won’t talk.” He huffed, staring at his hands in his lap. “If we just knew what had happened to the girls, what they know...”   
  
Oh, thank god for caffeine. As she took a sip of hot, bitter liquid, a wave of inspiration rushed right through Chloe’s mind. “What if we can?” Chloe moved away from the kitchenette and slid next to Sam on the bed, deftly rescuing the laptop from his grip.   
  
“Come again?” Dean barked.   
  
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.” Another sip of coffee and already, she was forming the paths along the information superhighway that she knew she needed to travel. “We’ve been sitting here obsessing over why the parents aren’t talking, but we forgot to ask the kids.” Her slender fingers flitted over the keyboard with the same care and grace she’d had when using her Watchtower systems. Her gray eyes locked on the screen in front of her, Chloe could feel herself sinking back into that place, that home where she plugged in and soon, the real world faded away. It was all digital from here.   
  
“Um... you wanna run that by me again, hot stuff, cause, correct me if I’m wrong,” She vaguely caught sight of Dean getting up from the chair and walking towards her. “We’ve been seeing their dead bodies, so I don’t think your computer’s gonna let them do any talkin’.”   
  
“Except we didn’t even consider that those girls might have known something before they were taken.” Chloe’s mouth moved at a rate comparable to her fingers, so she just let the techno-mojo work its way through her system. “Think about it. A town this small but enough people with smart phones, laptops and internet cafes? Kids these days live and breathe on the Internet, it’s a staple of their lives that’s existed longer than they have. Example. Sam, when did the Legend of Zelda come out?” Chloe pointed a finger at him to answer without ever taking her eyes off of the screen.   
  
“Uhhh... I dunno, it’s been out forever, it’s an old game.”   
  
Chloe pointed a finger at Dean. “Hey, Dean, what address did FDR give over TV for the first time?”   
  
“Hell if I know, one of his fireside chats?”   
  
Chloe glanced up to Dean, her eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief, Watchtower hard at work at knowing  _everything_ . “Wrong. FDR was never on TV. But, you’re so used to it having been around, it’s easy to see where that’s a common misconception.” She focused on the screen again, but not so quickly that she didn’t catch a smile on Dean’s face that was... almost dreamy?  _Right, sure, keep your Reporter’s Instinct to yourself about that guy. Focus on the case._  “The point is, social media is how these kids operate. I mean, we’re sitting here acting like the parents know everything and that the kids’ diaries are locked up in some tower with Rapunzel waiting to let down her hair. We don’t need to. We’ve got a digital ladder leading to the virtual diary these girls kept...” Chloe swiveled the screen so they could see as she finished bringing up the journal of the last girl. “Right here.”   
  
“LJ.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course.”   
  
“LJ?” Dean repeated, although he didn’t sound nearly as convinced. “What, is that like LL Cool J’s younger, lesser-known brother?”   
  
“It’s a site for people to keep virtual journals.” Sam explained with a voice that, well, Chloe had to admit, it was coming off a little, well, diva-ish. “Take a look. I mean, people talk about their personal lives, they do silly surveys, all sorts of things.”   
  
Dean gave the screen a cursory, sidelong glance, and turned to head back to the desk, as if this conversation no longer interested him. He barely got half a step away before he turned to look back again, eyes narrowing. He was realizing what Chloe had seen the moment she’d pulled up the website. “Hang on a sec. Isn’t that one of the Bathory symbol-coat things?”   
  
Sam leaned closer, and before Chloe realized it, she was well on her way to having a canopy of Winchesters overhead. “You’re right, it is... What is that, is that a school or something?” Sam reached out, presumably to scroll or click on the symbol. Chloe couldn’t see, as at this point, she was just a very pretty lap desk for the computer. Which, she reasoned, was acceptable for the moment. “The Berenika Finishing School. Looks like Olivia went there...” Another click, the younger Winchester’s expression grew more hopeful as he kept reading. “And Amber. _And_  Kelly. They were all students of that school.”   
  
“The Berenika Finishing school just  _happens_  to use the Coat of Arms for the Bathory family?” Chloe echoed what they were all thinking. “Coincidence, maybe. But I doubt it. This after school special was doing way more than just teaching girls what forks to use at dinner.”   
  
“We go there, we get all the answers.” Dean reasoned, waggling a finger at the computer as if it had already given up the location. “We gotta find this place.”   
  
The laptop spun again so she could see. Finding the address of the school would be ridiculously easy now that Chloe was on the case. “Just give me a few minutes and I should have the address. Navigating the information super-highway is easy when you know the right exit to take and you have a GPS like I do.”   
  
“You are all about the hyperbole there, aren’t you, Blondie?” Dean chuckled as he walked over to the desk chair to fish through his jacket pockets for something. Ah, Peanut M&Ms. “So, what? The more smarty-pants you get, the more you turn into sounding like a James Cameron film?”   
  
Leave it to him to call her on her ‘Professor’ attitude. “Look, I’m no Kate Winslet, so you’ll have to forgive me if we’re minus one ship of dreams. But, while you were busy teasing me, I’ve already gotten the address and business license for this finishing school.”   
  
Oh, boy, they were like Pavlov’s dogs. All she’d done was ring the bell. Mirth played over her features as Sam and Dean both grabbed for their jackets, and in Sam’s case, he was slipping on his shoes.   
  
“Well, then, what’re we waiting for?” Sam hopped on one foot for a second as he pulled on one of his shoes. “Maybe if we check it out, we’ll find something that links the school to the Countess in a supernatural sense.”   
  
Something caught Chloe’s eye, and she paused, scanning the text again. “Uh, hang on a sec, my Dynamic Duo. I think I just scooped you without leaving the room.” Chloe’s voice faded as she gave her complete attention to the articles she’d stumbled upon. The school had an interesting history, that was for sure. Of course, if she didn’t tell the boys, they’d be waiting forever for her to say something. “I just found a series of articles about the school’s opening last year. According to this, the actress Ana Berenika moved out here and had the building constructed by several different groups of contractors. She’d fire them every month or so.”   
  
Another click of a link, bringing up another piece of the puzzle.   
  
Meanwhile, Dean and Sam were apparently having more of that sibling communication. “So, like, HH Holmes...” That was Dean.   
  
“Yeah, sounds like.” Sam that time. And... apparently he was hopping again, so he was probably putting on his other shoe.   
  
“Ms. Berenika’s career seems to have significantly cooled off the last ten years or so.” Chloe continued. “Apparently she’s had a problem transitioning into the Aging Gracefully category for actresses.” The information was falling into place so fast that Chloe found herself wishing for Brainiac’s processing speed. At least she’d feel like she wasn’t missing something  _huge_ , even with all the sheer data coming her way. “So, she turned to teaching and opened up the school. But, not before she took a trip to Csejte Castle. When she came back, that’s when she started constructing the school. That castle was Bathory’s home.” Chloe closed the laptop’s screen, needing a disconnect from the digital for the moment. Especially since she was pretty sure that a virtual cache would not help them against the Countess. No, that was definitely Dean and Sam’s realm of expertise. “Something tells me that if we go to the school, we won’t leave until we get to the bottom of this.”   
  
“Damn straight.” Dean sounded  _thrilled_  by  _this_ ! _It’s like Oliver on uppers. And more Zeppelin._  “So let’s pack it up and get going. Sammy, c’mon, let’s go. Let’s check the gear in the car.”   
  
As the boys made their way to the door, Chloe stood and stretched, debating what she should bring of her own. Well, if they were going to run into something supernatural, she needed what little bit of her own arsenal she had. “I’ll meet you guys downstairs in a few.”   
  
While Dean and Sam focused on the stash in the Impala, Chloe headed back to her motel room. Shrugging off her jacket, she tossed the leather on her bed and moved to her dresser, pulling open the top drawer. “I know you’re in here somewhere...” Chloe whispered, searching intently for a specific, very precious leather bag. Finally, her fingers grasped around it and pulled it free from her tank tops. Pulling open the dark blue drawstring, she reached in and gently extricated a vibrant cerulean gemstone in its setting, a silver chain following obediently.   
  
_“What is it?” The gentle waves at Gotham City’s Narrows dock momentarily reminded Chloe of Paradise Island, but the blanket of darkness on the rooftop was nothing like the idyllic bastion in the Atlantic.  
  
The Amazon warrior’s slender fingers held the gemstone aloft, the silver chain glinting in the passing light of a police helicopter overhead. Most likely, they were on the hunt for the mysterious criminal gang who’d broken into Ace Chemicals that evening. “They are called the Eyes of Argus. There are only 99 such gemstones in existence.” As the gemstone that swirled with cerulean and hints of purple passed from the tall, buxom, raven-haired beauty with strong, Greek features who seemed so uncomfortable in the slacks and red shirt Chloe had provided her, the petite blonde could swear she felt warmth in the stone. Almost as though she was  **meant** to have the artifact. “Keep it with you, do not lose it. Such things are near-impossible to find, and truly impossible to replace, my sister.”  
  
Chloe’s gray eyes tore away reluctantly from the vibrant trinket at Diana’s warning. “What does it do?” She found herself thankful that Fate had given her such a boon in being able to speak the Themyscrican dialect of ancient Greek, or she would have missed meeting such a... wonderous woman.  
  
The Amazon’s features were graced with the sort of smile that Chloe used to think only Lois could manage. That light-up-a-room smile that was full of grace, not revealing the tiger underneath, ready to break free. “The eyes of Argus were used by Hera to protect her people, to see everywhere. When Argus was slain by Hermes, she placed his eyes in her sacred peacock. Once a year for one hundred years, the Peacock shed one feather. The eye of the feather became the gem as you see it.” Diana turned, striding across the rooftop in long, smooth steps, presumably to oversee the progress of the police force below. “Should you ever feel there is danger, wear the Eye. It will seek out a worthy protector for you, and shall summon them to your aid.” The Princess pulled her gaze from the streets and instead looked back at a woman she had helped nurse back to health, trained to fight. “Not that I suspect you will need it often. Phillipus and I have taught you well. But, I cannot always be there to protect you. Not when there is...” Diana’s face fell. “So much violence and pain in this Patriarch’s World. I must learn your people, learn your ways. Once I have done that, I’m sure our paths will cross again. Until then...” Chloe crossed the distance between them, sensing the farewell in her words. “My dear sister...” Diana gripped Chloe’s wrist with one hand, pulling her closer and holding her close, the embrace familiar now. “Do not dwell on what you cannot change, Sister. Be safe, be well, and you shall be in my thoughts. May Hera bless your heart and may Athena bless your mind.”_   
  
Blinking, Chloe shook the memories away, slipping the gemstone on its chain over her neck, tucking it under the shirt. She’d seen enough of the magic that hid Paradise Island from human eyes to know that if Diana said this could help her, she believed it.   
  
By the time she made it back downstairs, Dean and Sam had finished loading the Impala. Dean was shrugging on his leather jacket, and she could see Sam’s auburn hair in the passenger’s seat.   
  
“You done powderin’ your nose or whatever it is you do?” Dean was flashing her a big grin, the kind that was straight-up teasing, no flirtation actually involved. When Chloe’s expression matched his own, he must’ve taken that as a yes, because he strode to the driver’s seat and hopped in.   
  
As they made their way towards the Berenika Finishing school, Chloe sat somewhat reclined in the back. Her fingers idly toyed with the gem under her shirt as Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song played over the radio.   
  
“So, I’m thinkin’ that this Berenika chick might be a few fries short of a Happy Meal if she’s building her school all HH Holmes style.” Dean was talking over the radio, and Chloe forced herself to sit up a little more comfortably, resting her chin between the two boys on the bench seat. “What I don’t get is... why’re we seeing the girls’ ghosts? I mean, I can get us seein’ the Countess, she’s the Revenant. And the carriage - “   
  
“That’s probably just an extension of the Countess’s ghost, like that phantom trucker from last year in Missouri -” Sam chimed in.   
  
“Yeah, can we _not_ fuckin’ talk about Missouri, dude?” Dean snapped. Chloe’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Whatever had happened in Missouri was apparently a sore subject. Good to know for the future.   
  
“Dean, it’s part of our job, so, I’m sorry if you’re upset about what happened with Cassie, but - “   
  
“The hell’s the matter with you? The fuck did I _just_  say - ”   
  
_Chloe._   
  
Her blood went cold. The Countess.   
  
As the car made a slightly reckless turn along the winding country road, they reached a length of straight road, framed by dark, dying trees. For a mild season, the trees still should have been vibrant shades of green. Instead, the whole stretch seemed gray, colorless.   
  
_Lululica... I see you._   
  
Ignorant of the conversation going on around her, Chloe’s ears trained on the voice in her head, and her eyes trained on the sudden whirling, roiling pillar of smoke at the end of the road.   
  
The carriage came bursting through, stallions’ hooves beating at breakneck speed.   
  
“ _Dean!_ ” Chloe managed to breathe in warning, grabbing his shoulder on instinct.   
  
“ _Sonuva **bitch!**_ ” Dean shouted, his voice strangled, radiating tension as he swerved to avoid the behemoth of wood, metal and psychic energy.   
  
The Impala banked to the left, across the empty lane in the opposite direction, and Chloe was nearly slung onto her side. She gripped at Dean’s shoulder painfully, but it was all she could do to stay in her seat as he slammed on the brake. The muscle car skidded, shuddered, and protested as Dean kept cranking the wheel to the left, swiftly approaching a tree and hoping to avoid it.   
  
“Hold on!” He growled, and Chloe could feel his entire body tense in one instant as the brakes caught hold of pavement, and they careened towards the tree in billowing white smoke and the smell of burning rubber.   
  
The hood of the car stopped only breaths away from the trunk of the oak tree.   
  
No one spoke. Then again, she didn’t think any of them _could._  Each of them was too busy trying to catch collective breaths of air in heaving, shallow gulps.   
  
Chloe glanced back out the passenger window facing the street. No carriage. She turned back to Dean, opening her mouth to speak.   
  
_Lululica, cuculica..._   
  
The passenger door to her right suddenly clicked as it came unlocked, and swung violently open of its own volition. Acrid black smoke came pouring in.   
  
“Shit!” She squeaked, unbuckling her seat belt and backpedaling towards the other side of the car. The smoke wrapped around her ankle, icy tendrils of pain that made tears immediately spring to her eyes. “Dean! Dean, drive!” Chloe’s voice was etched with searing, angry sensation as the tendrils tightened, the smoke became form. " _**Now!** _ "    
  
_You are **mine.**_   
  
Chloe suddenly felt the world give way beneath her as she was wrenched by her ankle right out of the backseat of the Impala and dragged across the impossibly rough asphalt. She rolled, not quite sure how, and found herself on her stomach, ignoring the stinging and searing of road rash and various scrapes along her flesh. She’d had worse, she could take this.   
  
She could vaguely hear Dean and Sam shouting for her over the rush of blood throbbing in her ears, and Chloe glanced up through her haphazard hair in her eyes. She could taste iron and licked her lips, wincing as she realized her bottom lip was split, also throbbing.  _Leave... turn the car around and **go**..._  She silently pleaded as she watched the Winchesters do the  _exact opposite._  They’d left the safety of the Impala, they were running towards her. She’d only been dragged about fifteen feet, an easy sprint -   
  
A scream tore from Chloe’s throat as her entire left leg felt like it had been ripped from the socket of her hip. Suddenly, she felt more tearing, searing pain as her flesh was raked against the asphalt. The stretch of road, the Impala, Dean and Sam all disappeared from view as she found herself moving.   
  
Chloe managed to flip herself back over again, a sob wracking her lungs as she stole a glance towards what was pulling her to some unknown destination.   
  
The last thing Chloe saw was the back end of the carriage. The Countess held a chain in her hands as though it was no effort. That chain was wrapped around Chloe’s ragged ankle.   
  
Blinding pain exploded behind her eyes as the back of her head hit a rock, and she was gone.   
  
She was in the Countess’s hands now.


	12. House of Wax

Panic could not come even remotely close to what Sam was feeling. Terror, maybe? Utter dismay, even. Nope, nothing was cutting it even close.  
  
When the Impala had come to a screeching halt on the pavement, Sam’s attention had been on the road ahead of them, then the road behind them. He couldn’t see the carriage in front of them, but just as he’d turned back, he heard the door behind him swing open. Chloe’s panicked cries hit his ears so hard he thought he’d been smacked, his heart plummeting to his stomach.  
  
 _It’s just like Jessica,_  a panicked part of his brain screamed at him as he and Dean both scrambled mindlessly out of the car as they heard Chloe scream, dragged out of the backseat in a rush of cold air.  _You saw this happening, you didn’t stop it_ ** _and she’s gonna end up just like Jessica!_**  
  
“Dean!” Sam shouted as he heard the trunk pop open. His brother was already on it, already moving and from the corner of his eye, Sam saw the sawed off tossed his way before he caught it one-handed.  
  
The great, black carriage loomed about twenty feet away. Without hesitation, Sam pumped the shotgun and fired, a cloud of rock salt spewing towards the black tendrils of smoke that seeped from the gap of the open carriage door. For all his anger, frustration, hatred for the life that his father had indoctrinated him into, at least right now, he was using his instincts without hesitation.  
  
“Chloe!” He heard Dean bellow beside him, another blast of salt and gunpowder joining them. Together, the brothers advanced step-by-step, firing into the billowing smoke. No sooner than one blast of salt hit the smoke and left a gap, more pitch was sucked back in to take its place.  
  
Sam felt something yank at his jacket from behind, and suddenly, he was almost on his knees. “What the hell - “ He panted as he turned to see what had grabbed him. They had to get to Chloe, they had to stop -  
  
Amber Rawlings had grabbed hold of his jacket, her bony, white fingers tangled in the corduroy. Her grip was unnaturally strong, and his hip wrenched painfully as another pair of hands yanked on his jacket from his other side. Sam whirled. Another girl, and another. He was practically being dragged to the ground by the wraiths of the girls the Countess had taken. All those visions were now trying to  _kill_  him!  
  
“Sammy!” Dean bellowed as an errant shot from Sam’s shotgun went off, only to miss the girls clinging to him. A sharp, piercing scream reached Sam’s ears before it was ripped away. He whirled, ignoring the searing pain as his knee protested the movement. The carriage,  _fuck, the carriage!_  
  
“Dean! The carriage! She’s got Chloe!” Sam bellowed desperately. Oh, for the love of God, they’d been in some messes, but he was covered in  _ghosts_! They should’ve been pelting him across the road, they should’ve tried to kill him or...  
  
Sam stumbled to his knees. Suddenly, he was fighting nothing.  
  
Just as the thundering hooves, the panicked screams, and the gunshots had come to a deafening cacophony... now there was nothing but silence. Silence barely permeated by wind whistling through the trees. What the  _hell_  was going on now?  
  
He heard Dean’s clomping footfalls before he felt a hand grab at his jacket, tugging him back up to his feet. “Sam,” Dean’s breathing was heavy, labored, and his shirt was ripped up. But, Dean wasn’t really checking on him. He was looking over Sam’s shoulder - well, more like around it - but his expression was one Sam had seen too many times before. Dean had no idea what was going on.  
  
Turning gingerly, Sam ignored the painful twinge in his knee.  
  
The girls. All nine of them. They stood in a line across the road, draped in white gowns stained with rusty blood. The unearthly vision sent a chill down Sam’s spine, and from the way Dean had been staring, he imagined his reaction was pretty similar.  
  
“The hell are they doin’?” Dean asked, taking a few steps closer, the shotgun in his hand lax now. It was a good question.  
  
As if to answer, the girls all turned at once and pointed to the road ahead. The direction the carriage had come from.  
  
“Dean...” Sam cleared his throat, his voice having disappeared in the quiet. “I think they’re telling us to go to the school.”  
  
“What?” Dean hissed, turning to face his brother. “They were just tryin’ to kill us and now you think we should listen to them?”  
  
“Dean, don’t you think if they were trying to kill us, they  _would_  have? They were holding onto us, they didn’t try to hurt us!” Sam knew it was a longshot, but he really wanted to be right. He had to be right. He had to think they were on the right path, that they could help her. That’s when it hit him. Nine. Nine girls. “Dean, there’s only nine of them. The Countess had taken  _ten_  of them. One of them might still be alive!”  
  
Dean’s expression was solid, set. Angry. But he could see the cogs turning as his gaze flicked from Sam to the girls, then back again. “Look, we don’t have time for this. C’mon, get in the car, we gotta get her.” Dean jogged back off towards the Impala, and had the engine roaring before Sam could even tear his eyes away from the ghostly line, still pointing.  
  
The Impala pulled up beside him, and Sam folded himself back into his seat, shutting the door. Instead of peeling out, which Sam expected of his brother, they cautiously made their way back onto the road and towards the girls who had fallen victim to the Countess. As they drove past, Sam focused on one face in particular. Amber Rawlings.  
  
It took another ten minutes to get to the Berenika Finishing School, but neither of them spoke. The few times he’d glanced over at his brother, he’d noticed Dean’s white knuckles as he clutched to the steering wheel, the way his jaw set. As they turned into the long, private drive the school was on, Sam couldn’t handle the silence anymore.  
  
“We’re gonna get to her, Dean - ” Sam didn’t know who he was trying to convince more, but at least it sounded good.  
  
“I know that.” His voice was harsh, tight, and his eyes remained locked on the road. To be fair, the two brothers were equally upset. Sam was just handling it differently. They were quiet again as the Impala crawled to a stop on the grass outside the large mansion. No sooner than the car was shifted into park, Dean was climbing out of the Impala, popping the trunk and grabbing for a small arsenal.  
  
Sam followed, grabbing what he could as well. As he grabbed up more ammo, he found his heart pounding. They still didn’t know how to get rid of this thing. They’d never really faced revenants, and their mythos was so diverse, there wasn’t really one particular method advertised. Still. The mystery would have to wait. They had to find Chloe first. Through his mop of red hair, Sam glanced up at the mansion in front of them both, about twenty yards ahead. Dean had parked out of the way. “It’s only been ten minutes. Bathory was known for drawing it out, we should have time - “  
  
“Sam, do me a favor and don’t fuckin’ tell me about what she’s gonna go through.” Dean huskily muttered as he closed the trunk, looking up at him. The tension in his voice made Sam pause. While Dean would love to assume that Sam only cared about himself, they both knew that wasn’t the case. And right now, Sam could see the pain in Dean’s eyes, hear it in what little he said.  _Oh, God, I think he’s attached to her. This will be bad._  Dean sniffed, a sign that he was trying to clear his mind as well as his nose. “Just get your shit, let’s get in there, and let’s waste this bitch.”  
  
  
  
  
 ** _A storm is coming._**  
  
Darkness. Throbbing, dull, swollen pain.  
  
Something was rattling. Her head felt like it had been split open. She couldn’t feel her arms.  
  
 ** _She’s here, The Chosen Girl..._**  
  
Fate... she heard the echoes of Fate.  
  
Chloe’s sense of perception, of equilibrium, began to slowly take hold. Vague shadows of memory began to come to her. The boys... the car...  
  
 _The Countess._  
  
Chloe’s eyes felt heavy, but she knew one survival instinct over all others. If she didn’t look at her surroundings, she may as well call the funeral home herself.  
  
With far more effort than should have been necessary, Chloe Sullivan forced her eyes open.  
  
Red and black. And.... the world was upside down...  
  
Chloe’s stomach churned as her equilibrium pivoted on its axis to compensate with the new knowledge that it wasn’t the world that was upside-down. It was her. That or the two candles she saw burning were on the ceiling and defying gravity. With her whole body swollen, tight, in dull, aching pain and pressure, Chloe was only able to move fractions of an inch. She tightened her abdominals and craned her neck just enough. She could see dark manacles latched around her ankles.  
  
Letting out a huff of pained air, Chloe relaxed again, hanging aimlessly. While her body was still just as sore and beaten, ravaged by road rash and bruises, her eyes still worked. As did her mind. It was time to put them to work.  
  
The room, whatever room it was, was truly covered in shades of crimson and pitch. Scanning her surroundings, Chloe could tell that she was in a high-roofed room, probably about 20 feet high, painted a dark, rusty color. Splotchy, uneven colors that traveled from the ceiling to the floor. Tile floor, maybe? Blinking stupidly, she tried to focus again on the view below.  _C’mon, Sullivan. Where’d your reporter instincts go? Look for details..._  
  
Suddenly grateful for shorter hair, Chloe swiveled a little in the air as she tried to really make sense of the dark mass below. It was tile. White tile, maybe, but it probably hadn’t been white in quite some time. Like a game from childhood, the tiles were splotched various shades of bright to dark, rusty red and browns.  _Don’t step in the lava..._  
  
She actually would have preferred lava to be the source of those red hues, instead of the alternative. As Chloe’s eyes scanned from the outer corners of the room, they were drawn inward and towards the center of the floor below.  
  
An ivory clawfoot tub encompassed her view. A work of its own macabre art, bloodstains draped across it, as though waiting casually for the next victim to fill its great basin.  
  
Chloe’s stomach turned again. Flashes of Doomsday’s carnage at her ill-fated wedding filled her mind, and for just a moment, she could tell herself this wasn’t so bad. She’d survived worse.  
  
Her ankle throbbed as consciousness and movement had begun to bring sensation back to the rest of her body. A sob caught in her lungs, tears pricked at her eyes, and Chloe’s hands idly went to her leg, as if maybe just touching it could relieve the pain.  
  
“Nope,” She croaked, her voice a bare hint of what it should have been, raw from screaming. “Just made it worse...” Her whisper echoed through the chamber with the rattle of chains. Her red shirt was barely caught on the swell of her bosom, and when she dropped back to dangle, she found herself fighting to keep the fabric that way. Her jacket was gone. No, not gone. She caught sight of the black leather draped over a table, the only other piece of furniture in this room. At least, that she could tell from what little light she had. She had no weapons, she could feel her pockets were empty. Even if they hadn’t been when she was unconscious, they would have fallen simply because gravity demanded it. Another low thrum of pain pressed against her head.  
  
A door latch unhooked from somewhere in the large room, but no footsteps followed. There was a flicker of orange light, then another. And another.  
  
Chloe’s heartbeat quickened, the sound rushing through her ears as she turned to watch as candle after candle seemed to light itself, illuminating this chamber of...  
  
“Amber...” Chloe whispered, blinking tears away that had nowhere to fall. She was honestly surprised she hadn’t had a more physically stunned reaction to seeing the body of the young girl as it hung, forgotten, in a distant corner of the room. But, then again. Maybe it was the volume. Maybe it all just was so horrible that Chloe couldn’t afford to think that they could have saved them all.  
  
All ten girls. They were all here. Amber, Olivia, and others she recognized were in various states of... well. Two still hung from manacles. Others were about the room, the bloody nightgowns covering the prone bodies as though it had been an afterthought. Not guilt. It was more like how you toss garbage in a dumpster.  _So you don’t have to look at it._  
  
Chloe had no desire to be taken out with yesterday’s trash. And besides, the boys had weapons, they knew this territory. They were Hunters. They’d Hunt. All she had was a give ‘em hell attitude and her fists.  _And the Eye._  A little voice that sounded more like Diana than Fate reminded her. Of course, she couldn’t feel it around her neck. Her pulse quickened to a fever beat. Where was the Eye?  
  
Chloe strained to see, trying to swing her body any way she could in an effort to get a better overall view of the room.  
  
 _“Are you looking for this, Lululica?”_  The unearthly voice slithered through her senses and sent shivers of terror down her spine. Chloe stopped moving, instead faced with the cerulean Eye of Argus hovering below in mid-air. _“You seem so surprised.”_ The mystery voice was a mystery no longer.  
  
Around the Eye, Chloe caught sight of black smoke which took form into the pale hand of Countess Erzebet Bathory. In pale glory, the Blood Countess’s red robe draped across her body as she strode casually around the tub, watching her prey.  
  
Words were normally Chloe’s tool, her weapon of choice. Pen being mightier than the sword and everything... but not at this particular moment. Instead, the terror and icy chill of fear seemed to radiate from the spectre in front of her, embracing Chloe so tightly she shivered.  
  
 _“It is unfortunate for you that you have allied yourself with this distasteful pagan deity.”_  Chloe swallowed. Every fiber of her body wanted her to shut her eyes, to block out the dark pools where the Countess’s eyes were. The Eye of Argus, still in that pale hand. Would it even work if she didn’t hold it? She had to hope so. _“I shall purge you of the light this god has laced through your blood.”_  The Countess looked up at her, chuckling. _“You_ ** _do_** _know who I am, do you not, Lululica?”_  
  
The darkness in the spirit’s eyes cut straight to Chloe’s soul, and she swear she could feel the comforting sensation of Fate’s warmth in the back of her mind. It felt like Gotham, like Paradise Island. But then, it was gone, and she felt terror creep back in. “Countess Bathory, I presume...” She whispered.  
  
 _“And soon, my dear... So shall you be.”_ _  
  
 **The noose tightens.**_  
  
  
  
  
Fuck this. Fuck this case. This case had been cursed since the moment they left Peoria. Dark thoughts raged through Dean’s mind, even though his facade was cool and calm, albeit upset. He’d made a hell of a mistake. No, he’d made several mistakes this case, but the  _biggest_  one was not seeing in the fucking first place.  
  
 _Shoulda never gotten close to her, you_ ** _moron,_**  Dean’s sensible upstairs brain was starting to piss him off. Mainly because it was right. If he’d been more objective, instead of wondering how he was gonna finally get that that infuriatingly smart and beautiful Blondie with killer gams into bed without A) Feeling like a dick because he was pretty sure she had the hots for Oliver Queen and B) making sure he didn’t let his guard down considering he didn’t have a clue what crowd she ran with, except that one of them could rip his head off...  
  
He should’ve seen this. Without getting attached, he would have noticed that the moment she started hurting herself, he needed to watch for the ghost bitch through Chloe. He was a fucking Hunter, it would’ve been the perfect opportunity to track her down. And this Finishing School shit! How the  _hell_  did Sammy miss that? Wasn’t he supposed to be the one who did all the research? How the hell did they FUBAR this case so badly that Chloe was somewhere in the middle of this labyrinthine building and him and his dick-witted brother were having to break in through a window?  
  
Dropping in silently through said window, Dean’s gun was already up, loaded and leading the way. He heard Sam fall in behind him, the two of them stalking the dark halls of the Berenika Finishing School. The lights were all off; the place seemed just like any other haunted house. Normally, he’d been fucking thrilled. This time? He just wanted some god-damn answers and he wanted Chloe safe so he could just fucking flirt with her about how Cute-Chloe-Liked-her-Coffee, maybe have some fun time, and then to move the hell on.  
  
So why couldn’t he get this stone out of his stomach?  
  
Turning a corner, Dean stopped in the hall as a flicker of light illuminated the corridor, if only for a moment. They could both hear the storm as it broke overhead, thunder rumbling the foundations of the place. Ahead, there was one room. One door, ajar. A high-posted, ornate, probably ancient bed and a Persian rug. Why the hell was there a bedroom on the first floor?  
  
Lightning flashed again, and Dean’s heart caught in his throat. Where once had been a bare hallway, there was now a tall, wild-eyed figure, a large butcher knife in hand. Oh, that was never good.  
  
“Get out of my house, gentlemen.” The voice ahead of them was calm, raspy, like Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. To top it off, she was draped in this ornate maroon robe. Real creep-tastic.  _Great._  “I don’t like trespassers.” The lithe figure took step towards them, and both Dean and his brother tensed, guns raised higher.  
  
“Listen, Lady,” Dean’s normal gravel on blacktop voice was only enhanced by his focus. “I really don’t need the Glenn Close routine right now, so how about you just put the knife down.”  
  
“I don’t think so,” The woman took another step closer, reaching out and flicking on the hallway light.  
  
Dean squinted as the light assaulted his vision, his body tensing, waiting for the bitch with the butcher knife to do what crazy people did best. Surprisingly, she didn’t move, but rather looked between the two brothers. Long, graying dirty blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, and her eyes were dark and piercing like a hawk.  
  
“You’re Anna Berenika.” Okay, Sammy, why the hell stating the obvious was gonna help right now -  
  
“And you are Sam and Dean Winchester.”  
  
Dean’s hand tightened around the gun barrel. “‘Scuse me?”  
  
“You heard me.” Crazy bitch rose the butcher knife in her hand, and for the first time, Dean caught sight of a dark red smear down her jaw. Blood. “The Countess has been expecting you.”  
  
“So you know she’s here.” Sam again. Of  _course_  his little brother wanted to hug it out. Of course. “Look, whatever it is you think she’s doing for you, you have to stop. She’s killing people.”  
  
“You cannot stop the Countess.” Dean watched as the wraith of a woman drew herself to her full height, as if posing for a scene out of freakin’ Dynasty. “She is going to take this world and bathe in its blood. And I shall be forever young,” Anna draped a hand across her face, and Dean suppressed a bit of a shiver. “Forever beautiful. Those children didn’t mean anything to her. They were needed, so she could become strong. And soon, she’ll be ready.”  
  
“Ready for what?” Dean growled, his patience just about worn all the way through. “What’s that ghostly vain bitch planning?” That weight in his stomach had settled into a cold, churning mass of bad juju. Major bad juju. And he had a very bad feeling that Chloe was at the center of it. After all, he’d caught her sleepwalking. That was new, it meant control, it meant -  
  
“She needed to get stronger so she could inhabit a body.” Sam sounded like he’d just been bopped over the head with an apple and discovered gravity. Too bad that Dean wasn’t shouting Eureka for him. He was too busy trying to process _Chloe - Countess - dead girls - Stronger - Body._  “She’s a ghost, they can’t just inhabit bodies.“ Dean glanced over just as doubt and confusion flickered in Sam’s eyes. “Can they?”  
  
“With the proper text, and the proper tools, anything is possible.” The boys both kept their guns trained on her as Anna reached up with her free hand, tugging at something. Dean really didn’t want to know what. He wanted to use the opportunity to drop the chick, but since they still didn’t know who the hell else was in the mansion, where Chloe was, or where the freaking ghost was... well, maybe it was better to let her keep talking for a sec.  
  
“What is - is that - ” Sam began to move closer, and Anna whirled on him like a hawk surveilling prey. His brother’s words died on his lips.  
  
“When I visited Hungary last year, I met the groundskeeper of Castle Csejte. The man with the yellow eyes told me everything I needed to know to take the Countess as my own, to be forever beautiful, forever desired by men.” Suddenly, the reason Sam was having visions made a whole helluva lot of sense. “He gave me this talisman, and the Countess is under my control.”  
  
“Wh... the yellow-eyed demon told you to do this?” Sam’s voice had hitched up an octave in surprise, and Anna turned to face him even more.  _“Why?”_  
  
“Because I asked him, you fool!” She laughed, a sound that made Dean’s ears ring. “I shall live forever! And you will die here!” The knife raised, poised for the strike, and Dean rose his shotgun to unload salt shot, wishing for real bullets -  
  
A scream pierced the silence, and Dean felt his heart twist into a million knots as an uncharacteristic sense of painful dread swept over his body. Holy shit. With the way he felt, he woulda thought he’d just seen Sammy get killed or something. Instead, all three of them were still as Sam had his gun ready to fire, Anna’s knife was still in the air, and Dean suddenly realized he needed to go down that hall, take a left, and take a right, and then down the stairs and another left. And he needed to do it  _now._  
  
“Chloe...” Sam whispered, looking at Dean, his brow furrowed in worry. “Dean, you have to -”  
  
“Sammy, watch her!” Dean ordered, bolting past his brother and down another hall as lightning streaked across the sky outside. His brother could handle Dynasty. He had to find Chloe.  
  
  
  
  
 _ **Heed the call.**_  
  
The blade dragged across Chloe’s stomach like a hot knife scoring butter. The scream came all too easy. She had control, to be sure, but the fear of what was to come was beginning to truly grip her. She’d handled Zoners, she’d handled Doomsday, she’d handled Lex, and she’d handled Zod, so she could handle this -  
  
Another scream ripped through the empty room as the blade raked across her back. Chloe flinched, squirming and trying to pull away, only for hot, viscous liquid to drip along her skin towards her shoulders before it slipped away down to the basin below. Her hands were tight, swollen from being upside down, her head still throbbed. In the darkness, the sharp, searing pain of ripped flesh was almost a blessed release from the slow agony and disorientation from being upside down.  
  
Chloe choked back a sob, biting her lip to stop her jaw from quivering with pain. Her eyes had remained firmly locked on the Eye of Argus, pleading, begging for someone to help her. She had to believe that the stone heard her call, would send her a ‘worthy protector.’ Couldn’t call Clark, he didn’t do well with ghosts or magic, and to be honest, she didn’t even know if he’d actually come to the rescue right now. She’d done an amazingly thorough job of burning that bridge. Oliver? No... no, he wouldn’t know where to look, he wouldn’t know how to find her, and even if he could, she was at least half a day’s drive from Metropolis. And besides, she couldn’t let him get involved. He had to stay away. He had a destiny -  
  
Chloe bit down on her lip as a ragged cry ripped through her throat. This wasn’t the kiss of a sweet, elegant blade. Flesh tore as something hard raked down her side. With a utterance halfway between a gag and a shuddering sob, Chloe sputtered as blood dripped to her mouth. Iron tainted her taste buds. Her head spun, and Chloe could tell that one was deep. Deeper than the others. Her breath came in uneven leaps as her eyelids fluttered, threatening to close.  
  
 _“This body will be ideal. Beautiful, young. Azazel truly fulfilled his promises.”_  Oh, god, Chloe was getting sick of hearing that voice. She turned her pain to annoyance, tried to play off the way her body was slowly being ripped open. _“The Winchester boys led you right to me. How convenient that you were both in this town at the same time.”_  Chloe’s eyes snapped open and her equilibrium tilted again, making her stomach twist and churn. The Countess. She knew about Dean and Sam. She’d led them right into a trap. _“A pity. They were quite beautiful specimens of male anatomy. I know you noticed.”_  
  
“What’d you do to them?” Chloe managed to spit as she spun slowly in place, her body slick with her own blood as it continued its downward journey to the waiting maw of the Countess’s washbasin.  
  
Silence. The drip of falling liquid. The Eye of Argus pulsed in the Countess’s hand.  
  
Dread, fear, guilt. They all began to come closing in.  
  
“Tell me...” Chloe drew in a shaky breath, summoning power to her lungs. _“Tell me what you did to them!”_  
  
The Countess laughed.  
  
And Chloe really screamed. She screamed Dean’s name as the blade came back, raking along her arm. She just hoped that somewhere, he could hear her. He had to be okay. They had to be okay.  
  
She couldn’t take another body on her list.  
  
 _ **She’s here, the Chosen Girl.**_  
  
  
  
  
Dean followed instructions he didn’t understand, compulsions to action from an unknown source as he raced through the hallways. He certainly didn’t have a plan, and there was a very huge part of him that was screaming to go back to Sammy, to take down Dynasty bitch together and come back for Chloe. But a greater compulsion kept his feet hitting wood slats as he rounded a corner, then another. Honestly, he knew that Sammy could handle the woman.  
  
He didn’t think Chloe could handle torture.  
  
Chloe was already pretty locked down. Dean didn’t know why, frankly, he didn’t care. He just knew that she seemed broken enough, she didn’t deserve more. Who the fuck tortured people, anyway?! Oh yeah, that’s right, crazy bitches.  
  
Dean heard another scream echo through the halls and skidded to a halt. Lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating the hall ahead. His breath caught in his throat.  
  
The girls. Again, with the fucking little girls! First, they tried to get Sammy and him killed, and now they were...  
  
Dean blinked as he held his prepped weapon up. He slowly lowered the barrel of his rifle.  
  
They weren’t attacking. Again, they weren’t attacking. They were just watching, standing along both sides of the hallway, like kids getting ready to take a damn bathroom break.  
  
“Okay, this is officially fucked up...” The thought escaped his mouth before he could stop it. What was he gonna do now? Just march right the fuck through a row of girls, hoping they didn’t go all Ju-On on him?  
  
Two rows of pale little girls, dead because of him. Yeah... this was  _great._  
  
One of them slowly stepped out of the row, furthest to the end. She was a mass of dark hair, staring at the ground, and her nightgown was more ragged than the others. She shuffled closer, and Dean felt fear run down his spine again. It wasn’t fear of her, necessarily, though. It was fear that he was going to find Chloe like this next, see her shambling down the hall. Instead of dark hair, there’d be that blonde bob, crusted with blood, and -  
  
The girl lifted her head. All Dean could see was blue. Her eyes sparkled, no, more like radiated a vibrant blue that seemed to make every other blue he’d ever seen in his life just pale. Even with the mottled, rotting white skin, the cerulean stood out above all others, and Dean Winchester couldn’t move.  
  
She opened her mouth wide, as if to speak, but her neck bulged suddenly, like a toad.  _Oh, sonuvabitch, I’m gonna die in a J-horror._  But the mouth kept opening, wider and wider, until her jaw hung like a snake, unhinged.  
  
A bellow of sound came his way, filled with the cry of some bird somewhere, and more importantly -  
  
 _ **“DEAN!”**_ Chloe’s scream of agony rushed forth from the girl’s mouth with the force of water breaking through a dam, and he was sure his eardrums were gonna burst right then and there.  
  
Staggering back, Dean winced, reaching a hand up to try to cover his ear as he raised the shotgun in his hand and fired at the apparition. Like spooked birds, every girl dissipated into glitters of blue smoke and took off down the hallway...  
  
Lighting the way.  
  
“Okay...” He whispered, his voice sounding too loud in the newfound silence. He discharged spent shells, and loaded another round of salt shot, his gaze vigilantly flickering back to the hallway ahead, as if the light would vanish.  
  
Cocking the gun to ensure it was loaded, he took a deep breath and slowly made his way down the hallway.  
  
Another scream.  
  
Fuck it, running headlong into the unknown was the Dean Winchester way.  
  
So he bolted.  
  
 _ **You share the same Fate as I do, Chloe Sullivan.**_

Chloe had breath to scream, but she had lost the voice to.  
  
She was tacky, slick with her own drying blood as she spun dizzyingly above the basin. Her eyes had begun to flutter closed, the walls of darkness and paralysis closing in on her tired, pained mind. Chloe Sullivan had withstood three days of Rick Flagg’s torture. She could handle this.  
  
If it was up to Chloe, she would still be awake as the Countess finally bled her dry.  
  
But, Chloe’s body wouldn’t listen. She was beginning to fade, she could feel her heart slowing. There had been a time when that would have been preferable. At least, if it had been years ago, it meant she’d saved someone’s life at the expense of her own.  
  
No chances of waking back up in a morgue this time, though. Chloe had played with Fate several times on this journey. It looked like she’d finally rolled snake eyes.  
  
The Countess lay below in a pool of blood and water, her body seeming ever more opaque and manifest with every trickle of blood that ran down her pale face.  
  
Chloe’s eyes closed.  
  
The Countess sang. That lullaby.  
  
Chloe’s lips moved silently to join in, the song the only gentle thread tying her to the mortal realm.  
  
“Haia... haia... mica...”  
  
Her heart slowed, the dull thud fading.  
  
“Baia...”  
  
 ** _Would you sacrifice your life to save the Hunter?_**  
  
Chloe’s eyes snapped open, the Touch of Fate flowing through her eyes, her blood, her spine, her muscles, her skin, all of it. Blinking, the golden light encompassed her vision. Knowledge, images, the future, the past, the present, all came flooding to her with crystal clarity.  
  
 _Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don’t look back! Now, Dean! Go!  
  
Jonathan. We didn’t find him. He found us.  
  
Please don’t try and find us. I will find a way to save him.  
  
Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people.  
  
You’re responsible for the explosion. You killed Lex.  
  
You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them. Sam – he’s clearly John’s favorite. Even when they fight, it’s more concern than he’s ever shown you.  
  
How will I know when to let go? It’s all about your heart.  
  
Groupie love isn’t real love, Oliver. You used to know that.  
  
The Amulet of Isis is... missing.  
  
 **Teth-Adam shall be risen in the years to come. His bride walks the earth.**  
  
The laser eyes. **Shapeshifter.**  Just like back in St. Louis.  
  
“I’m the Blur.”  
  
I call upon the archangel Raphael, master of the air, to open the way.  
  
Blue kryptonite. In the water.  
  
“I got one year.”  
  
Lois and Clark are getting married.  
  
Rick Flagg. Suicide Squad. The General. He dies.  
  
They die. They all die._  
  
Chloe gave a heaving gasp of air as her body became whole. Strength returned as her mouth and her eyes were filled with the golden light of Fate. She arched her back and her body writhed as pain vanished, the blood and wounds vanished as though they’d never existed. The only discomfort she felt was from being hung upside-down.  
  
That was new.  
  
Suddenly, the Countess was gone from the basin, and instead standing below her again, her face contorted in horrific rage. Black cavities where her eyes should be, her mouth was agape with razor-sharp teeth as she screamed in Chloe’s face. _“How? How has the Pagan God done this?! You were promised to me!”_  
  
Movement in the corner of her eye caught Chloe’s attention. She smirked and chuckled softly. “You should really learn not to work with snake oil salesmen.”  
  
 _“I had broken you! You were ready and prepared! You will be mine!”_  
  
The door unlatched, and both women, dead and living, looked up at the sound.  
  
“Hey, Countess.”  _Dean._  He smirked as he rose the rifle in his hand, and Chloe felt relief wash over her. “Normally, that’s my line.”  
  
Salt showered the room, pelting Chloe and the apparition of Countess Bathory. Chloe covered her face with her hands, but even she could hear the scream fade as the Countess was banished for just a moment.  
  
 ** _It has begun._**  
  
  
  
Oh,  _sonuvabitch,_  of course she was hanging off the God-damned ceiling by rope! Of course!  
  
“Chloe!” Her name, and the way her eyes lit up when she saw him, suddenly made the trip down the blue corridors of bizarre worth it. He knew she was just relieved her was there, but damn, it felt good to see any girl give him that look. Concern, worry, tension, it all disappeared while he took a moment to look around for a way to get up to Chloe. “Hang on a sec, Legs. You just can’t make kidnap and rescue easy, can you?”  
  
Chloe groaned from the chains, remarkably unscathed. Which seemed odd, the Countess sounded like she’d done something and wasn’t happy it went wrong. “You know what, I will make it up to you later, McQueen. Just get me the hell out of here.”  
  
Dean glanced back, watching her as he grabbed the table and tugged it closer. Wow, she was way too calm about this. Maybe he’d been lucky. Maybe Chloe had been spared while they worked to get to her.  
  
Even as Dean leapt up onto the table, he knew that wasn’t the case. Couldn’t be. He never had that kind of luck. He grabbed salt from his pocket, and sprinkled what little he had around where he stood before glancing back up at her. Now that he had the boost from the table, he was staring right at her navel. “Gimme a sec and I’ll get you down. She has you up here with rope.” He chuffed and grabbed his pocket knife, flipping it open and reaching up. He was barely able to reach the rope, but he did nonetheless. He began to saw at the material, glancing back down at Chloe with a patented everything-is-fine smile. “Easy as pie.”  
  
“Rope? I thought I was chained -” Whatever Chloe said next, Dean didn’t hear. Suddenly the table went flying out from under him and he landed flat on his back. Hard.  
  
“Sonuvabitch...” He choked out as his eyes crossed, his head spinning a little from the impact.  
  
And then there was black-eyed bitch overhead. Dean rolled and was on his feet in no time, whirling to face the ghost so he could find his damn rifle.  
  
The Countess roared, and was suddenly inches from him again, hands outstretched.  
  
“No thanks, don’t want any!” Dean ducked and slid, grabbing his rifle. He let off another round and bit back a curse as she vanished again. She wasn’t gonna stay away, and he was outta damn salt. He marched back underneath Chloe. On top of that, he still hadn’t figured how he was gonna get her down considering he didn’t know where his knife was -  
  
“Dean! A little help!” Chloe yelped from above the basin.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
In a move that was just  _goddamn sweetly slick,_  Dean suddenly had a hundred-something pounds of blonde in his arms. By sheer luck, he heard the rope snap and had caught her  _just_  in time.  
  
Chloe’s arms were wrapped around his neck, and her hair was all sorts of disheveled and in her eyes.  
  
And the downstairs brain was at it again, even in the most inconvenient of times.  
  
“Heh. Knew you’d fall for me eventually.”  
  
Chloe rolled her eyes, scoffing and squirming until he put her down. “And this is why your pick-up book isn’t published, Winchester.” Chloe bent down, removing manacles that had been held together by the now-broken rope. “I could’ve sworn those had been chains...”  
  
“Your memory’s about as good as my lines, then.” Dean grabbed her arm, hauling her back up as he heard a rush of wind. “C’mon, sooner we’re out of this hall of horrors, the better.”  
  
“Hang on a sec,” Chloe shrugged him off, stumbling over towards a spot on the floor. She scooped up something, and Dean shivered.  _What the fuck?_  He  _shivered?_  A flash of cerulean made him swallow thickly, and he cleared his throat, looking anywhere else. He caught sight of his pocket knife a few steps away and dropped down to swipe and pick it up. She was still staring at the damn blue thing in her hand!  
  
“Chloe, I hate to butt into your busy schedule here, but I just saved your ass once today. You think we might go help Sammy now?” Dean frowned a little. Damn, that came out harsher than he meant it.  
  
“Sorry,” Chloe turned to face him, looping the blue necklace over her head. Her voice was strong and focused, but she didn’t seem upset. “Where’s Sam?” Another rush of wind from down the hall, and the two of them exchanged worried glances.  
  
They strode towards the only exit, Dean’s hand back at her elbow, urging her forward. “Upstairs with the actress chick. She went all Sunset Boulevard on us - “  
  
“Hang on, did you hear that?” Chloe had stopped walking. Oh, for  _fuck’s sake,_  could they just get out of the damn basement? As he turned to say  _just that,_  a sound reached his ears that he hadn’t noticed before. The kind of sound that made his stomach drop to the floor and made his blood boil at the same time.  
  
They could hear whimpering. Soft, pained whimpers from... somewhere... Dean’s brow furrowed, and he swiveled, his eyes raking the remainder of the room, trying to find the source.  
  
“Nine girls...” He muttered, half to himself and half to Chloe. “Sammy and I saw the ghosts of nine girls, not ten.” Dean kept scanning the room, craning his neck to hear the whimpering. Unfortunately, his heart pounded the same rhythm of the ticking clock he knew they were working against.  
  
“Dean!” Chloe’s voice caught in her throat. She had moved to the end of the room, a corner where a body still hung from the ceiling, but otherwise, it was all a pile of blood-stained sheets and... Chloe pushed a body aside with a sense of control that was downright admirable. He was at her side in a moment, crouching down and trying to ignore the pungent odor of decaying flesh. “Help me,” She breathed as she tried to move another girl’s body.  
  
Without a word, with unspoken respect for the children they hadn’t saved, the two of them moved aside the corpse and pulled bloodied sheet away.  
  
There wasn’t much that made Dean’s tough give’em hell attitude completely crumble, leaving the same kid who gave his brother the last of the Lucky Charms, the same guy who’d do anything to risk a kid not having to grow up without their mother or father.  
  
The whimpering, blood-crusted, shaking and pale little girl in front of him was at the top of the list.  
  
Reaching forward without a word, Dean pulled the little girl closer and into his arms, scooping her up gingerly until he was standing. She couldn’t be more than 8 or 9. “She’s still alive... How the hell did that happen?” Dean had forgotten about the looming danger, just for a moment. He was holding onto the little, frail bit of hope he had in his arms.  
  
He felt Chloe’s hand on his arm as she sidled up beside him. Her other hand reached over and brushed crusted hair away from the girl’s face. “I dunno...” Chloe’s gentle touch seemed to calm the wheezing little thing in his arms. “But, she’s burning up... Infection, I’m sure.” She scooped up something behind them, and wrapped it around the girl in his arms. Her leather jacket. “She needs a hospital, Dean.” He tensed, realizing what he was doing, the time he was wasting.  
  
Pushing instincts away he liked to pretend didn’t exist, Dean held the little girl closer and turned to face the door again. Another rush of wind. The Countess was close. The fact that she hadn’t come back already didn’t sit well with him. At all. “Well, mystery’s gonna have to wait, Blondie.” Dean gruffly started towards the door again. “You said a hospital, so we get out of here and find one.”  
  
“What, just like that?” Chloe’s footfalls fell in step beside him, and given the tone of her voice, he found himself wondering just what kind of friends her vigilante buddies were, if she was this cool with getting kidnapped by a ghost. “I don’t suppose you left us a trail of breadcrumbs to get us out of this Gingerbread nightmare before the witch comes back, did you?”  
  
“No, I didn’t, Legs, I was too busy worryin’ about savin’ your damn life.” He barked before poking his head out the door. Dean’s scowl deepened as he checked the hallway, only to see nothing but darkness and the faint outline of the corridor. He stepped back to look at her. “Thank you would be nice.”  
  
Chloe rolled her eyes and shook her head, brushing past him.  _Stupid, reckless..._  Dean’s mind kept filling in various adjectives as he kept close to her, glancing back behind him once or twice just to keep track of where they had been. Still no sign of the Countess. Not good.  
  
“Okay, so you didn’t just guess your way down here, I take it,” Chloe was saying as her hand brushed against the wall, presumably so she could keep a sense of depth perception. “And you made really good time, considering the Countess wasn’t able to do much to me.” Something about how she said that seemed... off, but Dean didn’t have a chance to really consider why. He caught a glimpse of bright, vibrant blue in front of him.  
  
“Hold up,” He reached out, shifting the girl in his arms to one side so he could grab Chloe’s hand and turn her to face him. “What is that?” Dean pointed to the neon marble of mystery, only for Chloe to tuck it back under her shirt.  
  
“It’s a gift from a friend.” She answered quickly, but the way she said it, he knew she was holding back. Damn, he really hated it when people he actually liked started - “Look, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but it’s supposed to help.” Dean motioned to the empty corridor around them, silently entreating, as if to say  _We’re in a haunted house, what wouldn’t I believe?_  Chloe hesitated, casting a glance over Dean’s shoulder as she spoke. “My friend gave it to me so it would send me help if I was ever in trouble. She’s very religious. Can we go now?” Her gaze met his in the darkness again, and silence fell. Tense silence.  
  
Dean let it go. For the moment. Huffing, he tromped past her, trying to ignore the pitiful wheezing, the indescribably weak way the little girl clung to his leather jacket with a frail hand. “We find some stairs, then we’ll figure out how to get back to Sammy.”  
  
“And if we don’t?”  
  
“We will.”  
  
  
 ** _He is the bridge that crosses the Lake of Fire._**  
  
Dean had been gone too long.  
  
If it wasn’t that Sam’s arm was getting tired, it was the way that Anna Berenika had grown more erratic as she languidly paced the hallway in front of him. Or it was the thunder crashing overhead, punctuating the howling, eerie cries from somewhere inside the maze. Either way, patience was running thin, and more importantly, time was running out.  
  
Brow furrowed, the younger Winchester still had his shotgun trained on the actress, and he was desperately trying to quell this sensation that something very bad was happening downstairs. His gaze was locked on the strange object she’d pulled free from her robe before Dean had bolted away. After Chloe’s scream, Anna had backed off, knife still in her hand, but otherwise, she was calm. Overconfident, even. She’d gone silent as more screams had echoed through the halls. She was preening, clutching that same item as she listened to every noise. It looked a bit like a cross between a dream catcher and a David’s Star, the object in her hand. He hadn’t seen many of them, but... man, it looked like a talisman. He knew those things could be used to control people, sometimes even ghosts, but he was worried. He didn’t know what she was doing with it. Or why the yellow-eyed demon was involved. Croatoan echoed in his mind all over again.  
  
Neither of them spoke. Sam didn’t know what to say. Frankly, he really didn’t want to hear what she was thinking, either.  
  
But, there had been a different sound. Something between an unearthly scream of Dean’s name and something else, and it set Anna on edge. Not to mention, it had made his ears ring and his jaw lock.  
  
The stand-off continued, only now, both of them were tense, and Anna’s eyes had drifted back to his again. Her features, she was so sharp, so severe. Sam swallowed. He really did _not_  want to shoot some demented, but ultimately human woman.  
  
“Look, I get that you want to be young,” Sam couldn’t believe he was talking. The words were sort of coming of their own volition. “But, believe me when I say that the guy who gave you that talisman doesn’t care about what you want. He cares about what  _he_  wants, and it’s never good.” Playing the somewhat moral card was a long shot, to say the least, but at least it was  _something._  
  
She chuckled, brandishing the knife once more, taking a smooth step towards him. Sam tightened his grip on the shotgun. “You  _fool_. I know what kind of deal I made. You think I care about those girls? They were  _tools._  I’ve used far worse tactics.” She flourished a hand in a move that was so theatrical Sam was waiting for a curtain call. “It’s the joy of being  _célébrité.”_  
  
Sam’s lip curled in disgust, and he shook his head.  _Why did you have to try to hug it out, Sam?_  He asked himself as he took a cautious step backward.  _Her elevator doesn’t even go to the top floor, and you’re trying to sell her balcony construction._  “You know we’re gonna stop you, right?”  
  
“If your brother isn’t already dead, I would be highly surprised.” There was another unearthly sound, and Sam glanced back the way his brother had gone.  
  
 _Bad idea, Sam._  
  
His conscience was about two seconds too late, because no sooner than he’d turned his gaze from Anna, the woman struck out. The shotgun was knocked from his hands with  _unnatural_  amounts of force, and it went right down the hallway.  
  
Pain blossomed along his stomach as the knife cut through his T-shirt and scored the flesh beneath, and Sam jumped back.  
  
His right hand shot out, knocking the knife away as she came back for another hit, and he felt pain sear against his palm as it caught the blade before it was out of her hands. His left hand followed from the other direction, and he ignored the jarring sensation as his fist connected with her jaw.  
  
Anna recoiled, stumbling back until she hit the wall, and Sam hesitated, debating if he should make a run for the gun, or the knife. He stole a glance at Anna, then back to the gun, before making his move. Sam sprinted and crouched, swiping up the shotgun. He turned to bolt down the hallway he’d seen Dean disappear down earlier.  
  
“Stop running or I will unleash the Countess on  _everyone!_ ” Sam froze mid-step, a shiver running up his spine as he slowly swiveled to face her again. What the hell was he going to see now?  
  
Anna held the talisman in her hand high above her head, poised to hurl it. Oookay...  
  
“What, you’re gonna smash it?” Sam chuckled a little, relaxing some. Wow, if that was all he had to worry about... “Fine, go ahead. Lose control of the ghost. I’m sure she’ll flit away to nothing.”  
  
“You stupid boy,” Anna chuckled, shaking her head. “Foolish boy. A talisman allows me to control her. Without the talisman,” Anna licked her lips, letting the rest of her sentence dance across her tongue. “I set her free to attack anyone.” She rose her hand higher, preparing to throw.  
  
Sam could feel the color leave his face. He didn’t know talismans worked that way. Okay, that was bad. “No... okay, no, don’t - “  
  
Too late. The talisman cracked into bits as Anna smashed it to the floor, and the subsequent crash of thunder made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Shit. What did she just do?  
  
  
 ** _The Path is set._**  
  
They were lost. They had to be. After Fate had given Chloe that burst of strength and a hint at the future, the present and past had faded away from her mind, for the most part. So, as they had wandered, she’d debated opening her mouth to ask Dean questions, but she couldn’t think of what to ask. And to be fair, she just wanted out. They had managed to find one girl who could receive treatment, who might make it out alive. Asking Dean about how he was doing seemed insulting, at the best.  
  
As the small group rounded the dark corners, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was very wrong. Something had happened, she just didn’t know what.  _C’mon, Fate, whenever you feel like dropping me more cheat codes, I’d be okay with that._  
  
A shriek of sound suddenly echoed through the dark corridors, sending Chloe’s entire body on edge. Apparently, her instincts were dead o -  
  
Dean’s hand was gripping her shoulder, and Chloe was thrown against the wall, the combined weight of his body and the little girl’s against her chest.  
  
“Dean, what - “ She started, but his gaze in the darkness brooked no argument. In the breathless moments as another shriek sounded, she ignored the way the little girl’s elbow jabbed into her side, instead wondering what Dean was doing. And then suddenly, he covered their bodies with his, his hand in her hair, pushing her head into the solace of his shoulder. Just before her vision was totally obscured, though, she shuddered and tensed as she saw what Dean had somehow predicted.  
  
The Countess. She rushed them, hands outstretched, screaming and shrieking, a rush of wind on her tail. Just as Chloe felt a bolt of fear run through her and Dean tightened his grip, she shut her eyes, preparing for the worst.  
  
Her hands gripped at his leather jacket. If she was gonna go, at least she wasn’t alone.  
  
The shriek abruptly ceased. Nothing but wind hit the trio.  
  
Silence, save for the heart beats and breaths.  
  
Slowly, Chloe opened her eyes and dared to steal a glance over Dean’s shoulder into the darkness.  
  
A faint blue glow faded from over his shoulder. The Countess was gone.  _That glow..._  Chloe pulled back slightly, glancing down at where she knew the Eye hung tucked under her shirt. It was the same hue. Had it really just saved them?  _Dean? The worthy protector?_  She silently looked up at him, opening her mouth to speak, even though she didn’t know what to say.  
  
“That blue trail. Again.” Dean wasn’t looking the same direction as Chloe. His gaze was somewhere ahead of them, intensely focused. “This place is so many degrees from Kevin Bacon it’s not even funny.”  
  
“What?” Even the Chloe Sullivan witty retort factory was having trouble with that one. Her eyes were focused on the glittery blue path lit before them now.  
  
“Nevermind.” He gruffly rumbled before pulling away so quickly it left her a little breathless. “C’mon.”  
  
Chloe didn’t mind the rescue, in fact, she was appreciative of it. But, Dean’s way of charging headlong into danger and then expecting her to just deal with it was beginning to grow tiresome. She’d handled years of Clark’s dangerous secrets, of Oliver’s enemies, and Lex Luthor.  _Maybe the Eye is more of a pain than anything else. I didn’t want some big damn hero._  Always the heroes... Just a few weeks ago, Dean’s heroic streak was working its way into her heart. Now it was reminding her that even with all her training over the years, she was still a Sidekick to everyone else.  
  
Now wasn’t the time to be ungrateful. They had to get out of here, and then she could school him on just how self-sufficient she was.  
  
 _Okay, Chloe, there’s a difference between being self-sufficient and not accepting help._  She chided herself as her hand rested on the Eye beneath her shirt. Which reminded her...  
  
“You said ‘again’.”  
  
“What?” Dean absently replied as they navigated blue-lit halls.  
  
“You said ‘The Blue Trail. Again.’” She clarified, lengthening her steps to catch up with him. “You saw it before?”  
  
“Uh...” Dean was hesitating, she could tell. Then again, blue corridors of light were new, even for her. “Yeah. Some freaky Ring-style crap, but, the trail sorta led me to you.”  
  
That confirmed it. The Eye had worked. _Note to self: Thank Diana next time you see her._  
  
“I don’t like this. Where the hell’d she go?” Whether or not Dean was talking to her, Chloe wasn’t certain, but he was voicing questions they both had. Instead of answering, she found herself mulling it over as they kept up their quick, but cautious pace.  
  
As they rounded a corner, thunder shook the foundations of the mansion, and they both heard a strangled shout from above them. Chloe tensed.  
  
“Sam,” They both whispered. Chloe took off first, only by sheer base instinct, but Dean wasn’t far off the mark.  
  
As her feet slammed against wood, Chloe heard another strangled shout, and the place shook once more. Okay, that was something different. That felt worse.  
  
Sam was in danger. Somehow, Chloe just knew.  
  
Rounding a corner, ignorant of Dean’s shouts behind her, a staircase filled her immediate view. Taking the steps two, three at a time, she bolted up and up, rounding a landing, then up again.  
  
 _Haia haia, mica baia..._  
  
Chloe’s heart pounded as the Countess’s song grew louder in her mind, and the touch of that evil, dark soul rushed through her. She paused at the top of the stairs as she felt an icy chill wash through her, only for the Countess to suddenly rush in front of her.  
  
The Countess had just passed  _through_  her.  
  
Staggering, Chloe stumbled forward just in time to see Sam go flying down the hallway, only to land on an end table with a sickening crack.  
  
“Sam!” Chloe gasped, pelting forwards to reach him.  
  
 _“Enough of this, Lululica.”_  The Countess. She sounded different.  
  
Chloe whipped her head back to look behind, blonde strands in her eyes as lightning flashed in the windows.  
  
A woman stood, tall, lithe. Chloe’s sharp mind recognized Anna Berenika from photos of the school. But this was no longer Anna.  
  
The Countess was in her eyes and in her soul.  
  
 _“You will come to me, Lululica. And you shall give yourself to me. Or I shall take every child on this planet.”_  The Countess cooed, raising a hand and crooking her finger to invite the blonde closer. _“And I shall start by using your beautiful body to seduce and destroy the Winchester boys. Simply because I can.”_  
  
She tensed as she heard Dean’s footsteps on the stairs. She was out of time.  
  
“No, you won’t.” Chloe said firmly, confidently. She felt a presence, urging her on, strengthening her.  
  
 _“I won’t?”_  
  
“Your reign of terror ends here, Erzebet Bathory.” Chloe turned to fully face her enemy, the woman who had plagued her thoughts for weeks on end. “The Countess of Blood has had her run with Fate.” The words stopped being Chloe’s somewhere between the beginning and the end of time.  
  
Chloe Sullivan opened her mind and her soul to the presence that had saved her over and over again. Her voice was no longer her own.  ** _“I know your Fate. And it shall be done.”_**  
  
Golden light erupted from Chloe, filling her eyes and her mouth. Fate took a step closer, and threw her hand out. The great ankh of life followed, and engulfed the woman once known as Anna Berenika, now the poor vessel of Countess Erzebet Bathory.  
  
The light faded. There was nothing left save for the broken shell of the woman, who lay pale on the ground.  
  
Idly, Chloe lowered her hand, her senses returning once more.  
  
“Chloe?” The voice was pained, but unmistakable. Swallowing, Chloe slowly turned to face the voice.  
  
Sam was on the ground, clutching his stomach. Winded, but whole and okay.  
  
And from the look on his face, he’d seen everything.  
  
 ** _There is no turning back._**  
  
One girl. Her name was Mary. Dean was still holding Chloe’s leather jacket as he sat on the hood of the Impala, watching the sun come up.  
  
By the time the ambulance and police had arrived, Dean, Sam and Chloe had cover stories. They didn’t really discuss them, but surprisingly, it worked like a charm. Dean and Sam had cons a plenty just stacked up in the back of their mental arsenals. They just picked one and went through the motions.  
  
They went with lost travelers who’d stopped for the night in the storm.  
  
Chloe whipped out a federal agent badge so quickly Dean’s head thought it would spin right off. Not that he couldn’t have used that con, he just didn’t think to bring that badge before they ran out to Frau Blücher’s castle.  
  
Honestly, though. Dean had conned his way around as a fed, but not like Chloe did. Blondie actually seemed pretty confident, as if she genuinely was one. His thoughts went to that VRA the two of them had spoken about a few weeks before. Chloe knew a lot for someone who didn’t exist, and the things she didn’t know? They didn’t seem to match.  
  
“Hey.” Dean looked up as he heard his brother’s footsteps on the gravel driveway. Sammy was doing better since they’d had paramedics take a look at him. “Chloe’s wrapping up with the cops now.”  
  
Dean simply nodded, looking out at the pale light of the sun, starting to chase away all the darkness and storm of the night. His gaze dropped back to Chloe’s jacket again, zoning in on the rusty blood spatter that discolored the black leather. Guilt sat on his shoulders, just hangin’ out like it had nothing better to do.  
  
He felt Sam lean against the hood beside him. “You okay?” Dean didn’t bother giving his brother a response to such a phenomenally dumb question. “Dean, we did everything we could - “  
  
“Yeah, thanks, Sammy,” Dean snapped, looking over at his brother, jaw set. “I get the line, you’ve towed it before. Do me a favor, and just don’t.” Dean dropped the jacket next to him on the hood and hopped off. “We had  _ten_  girls, Sam.  _Ten_  girls we coulda helped, and instead, I let ‘em get killed.”  
  
“ _You_  got them killed - “  
  
“If I’d been payin’ more attention, none of this woulda happened. If I’d noticed Chloe’s behavior - “  
  
“But you didn’t because I didn’t want you to.”  _Sonuvabitch._  She really needed to stop fuckin’ sneaking up on him. He didn’t like it, and it was interrupting his well-deserved pity parade. He knew he’d fucked up here, he didn’t need some cute blonde who was full of secrets and more bizarre looks between her and his brother in the last three hours than he’d seen in a month - “Dean, I didn’t want you or Sam to worry about me. And I thought it was simply connected to the ghosts you were seeing.” Chloe’s voice sounded too neutral for his liking. Like it was when she’d talk about her past.  
  
This sounded suspiciously like she’d locked back down again. Dean turned to face her.  
  
Chloe had her arms crossed against her chest, and in the sunrise, with the way she looked, Dean felt that guilt hit him worse. Goddammit, he knew he thought she was beautiful, but the last thing he needed was to be thinking about how his stupid downstairs brain had almost gotten her killed. Probably more than once.  
  
 _Focus, Dean. You’re fuckin’ pissed off!_  “There a reason you’re tryin’ to not put the blame exactly where it should be, Blondie?” Dean made a lazy point with his hand back to himself. He knew who had screwed this up. Him and his brother. They were the seasoned Hunters. His dad never would’ve fucked this up -  
  
“Because there’s no blame to lay, Dean!” Chloe’s voice had changed, gone from hard to plaintive in an instant. “Look, you need to get your hero complex in check, Arsenal, right now. This isn’t your fault. Sometimes, you can’t always beat the bad guy before there are casualties.”  
  
Anger shot right to the surface at Chloe’s audacity. The only thing that shocked him more was that he was hearing it from her, the girl who talked about heroes like they were the best thing since sliced bread.  _“Casualties?!”_  He opened his mouth, ready for another tirade -  
  
“Sometimes people die. And it  _hurts_ , and you feel horrible that you couldn’t save them, because you know you could have done things differently. But that doesn’t change that it happened.” The anger in his blood cooled at the ragged pain he heard in her voice, saw in her eyes. “I have enough bodies on my ledger, Dean. And every one of them hurts, but it doesn’t mean that I stop everything I’m doing to wallow in my failures.” Chloe swallowed, and he watched her cold exterior crack a little more. And again, he was reminded instantly that he never wanted to see that look on her face. _Good job, Winchester._  
  
Chloe continued, Dean powerless to tear his eyes away from her. “If I stop fighting, then no one wins. When I told myself that I wanted to be the Sidekick to the heroes, I plugged myself into the information superhighway so fast that I completely lost track of the outside world. Because I was escaping from those people I’d lost.” She gnawed her bottom lip, a habit he’d seen more than once when she was upset. Goddamn, this was just not his month. “I found myself drifting away, wanting to unplug. And I did. And now? Now I’m so unplugged no one could find me if they wanted to.”  
  
Silence fell over the trio. Dean wasn’t sure how he’d gone from being angry at her marginalizing the death of those girls to wondering what the hell had happened to break her so bad, to make her this vulnerable little girl wrapped in the shell of a woman with no heart.  
  
“But, I did it for a reason. There is a Darkness coming, and I have to make sure that the heroes this world needs survive.” Her voice broke. The brothers looked at one another, then back to her. “There are going to be casualties. But something bigger is on its way, and we all have to be strong in the coming months. I’m not saying this because I don’t care about the girls who died. I’m saying this because I care about you.” Chloe’s eyes flicked away from Dean to focus on his brother. “Both of you.”  
  
Another long pause followed as Dean tried to process the lecture that had been dumped on him. A thought above all others rose to the surface, and it bothered him. More than he thought it would.  
  
“Hang on, why’s that sound like goodbye?” Dean walked closer, leaving his brother behind at the Impala so he could face Chloe in close quarters.  
  
“Because it is, Dean.” Chloe blinked away tears that he knew he’d seen. Her expression was locked down again. Not hurt, not sad, just... calm. Military. “I have to go, and now that you guys have closed this case, you can, too.”  
  
Wow. So that was it. Just like that. That would’ve been a new record if he wasn't so goddamn pissed off for no reason.  
  
“Huh.” That was all he could muster. He should’ve known. A month with her had gone so smoothly, his brain had just started to acclimate. And now she was leaving. “Then... bye. I guess.” Dean cleared his throat and turned, making sure he took the largest steps he possibly could to get back to the Impala, his expression stony. He paused long enough to see her jacket on the hood of his car, and he picked it up, smacking it into his brother’s chest. “Say goodnight, Chuckles. We’re outta here. Leggy Blonde has a ‘case.’”  
  
He didn’t wait to see what Sam would do or say, he just swung open his car door and slipped inside, shutting the door with a resounding, final thud. The windows were up, he couldn’t hear them outside. He turned his focus to the sunrise ahead of them, but out of the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but watch.  
  
 _Infuriatin’, dumb, reckless, self-important, leggy, sexy, intelligent, fuckin’ infuriatin’ blonde..._  Dean’s mind kept grousing as he pretended not to notice the way his brother was talking to Chloe. Brow furrowed, all bitch-faced like he was worried about her. Fuck it. She was pretty sure she could take care of herself. She didn’t even thank him when they got out of there, and instead she had the balls to lecture  _him?_  
  
Dean’s hands tensed on the steering wheel as he watched Sam brush golden strands from Chloe’s cheek, only to see her smile. His stomach twisted in knots, and he cleared his throat, pressing his palm to the horn.  
  
Sam jumped, then turned to Chloe again, giving her a nod and a wave, before walking over to the passenger side. Jumbo folded himself into the seat, and Dean paused, watching as Chloe turned, waving at the boys, and walked down the road.  
  
Dean was acutely aware that he was being stared at, and he turned, only to be blinded by bitchface. “Dude, what?”  
  
Sam simply looked at him in disbelief. “Dude, you’re a  _jerk.”_  
  
“What? How am I a jerk?” Dean sounded as if someone had just insulted his manhood instead of reaffirming it.  
  
“You couldn’t be nice to her for ten minutes? I thought you liked her. I thought she was a ‘dibs.’ Now she’s gonna have to walk back to the motel.” Sam sounded two seconds away from his head popping off like a tea kettle. Typical.  
  
Dean frowned, turning the car on and shifting gears. He turned to look at his brother one last time. “News flash, Sammy. Somethin’ tells me Chloe Sullivan ain’t no one’s dibs.” He reached his arm to lay across the bench and looked behind him, backing the Impala out.  
  
Without another word, Dean sped the car down the road back towards the motel. Time to pack up and get out.  
  
And to forget all about Chloe Sullivan and her bizarre hero connections.  
  
 ** _You have chosen your Fate, Chloe Sullivan._**  
  
Chloe watched the Impala as it sped away, her expression cold, but not surprised.  
  
“Bye, Dean.” She whispered.  
  
Chloe felt something wet on her cheek, and she paused, reaching up to brush at it.  
  
She was crying. And she didn’t have a clue why.  
  
Chloe’s phone beeped, and she reached down, flipping it open. Huh. No surprise there.  
  
“Diana,” She smiled as she began to walk down the street again. “I was hoping you’d call.”  
  
“I hope you are well, sister.” Diana sounded calm, cool, and a little energized.  
  
“I am. I wanted to thank you for the Eye. I can’t believe it actually worked.” Chloe could use the walk now, and soon, worries about the Winchester boys were pushed back a little further from her mind until they were buried completely.  
  
“Of course it would work. It is an Eye of Argus. Your lack of faith concerns me, sister Chloe.”  
  
As Chloe’s footfalls faded into the background, an errant thought ran through her mind, chilling her, but she didn’t know why.  
  
 _“I got one year.”_  
  
 ** _You have chosen your Fate, Chloe Sullivan. And theirs._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Continued in..... Born On A Monday.
> 
> Please leave me kudos, bookmark the series, or put me on your list if you liked this! Born on a Monday should be beginning in the next couple of weeks or so!


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